


Rescue Me

by Woland



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Stephen Strange, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, IronStrange, M/M, Merman! AU, References to Child Abuse, Somewhat canon-compliant, Stephen and Tony through the years, Tony Whump, in places, merman!Stephen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-07-15 04:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16055957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woland/pseuds/Woland
Summary: This story was inspired by a tumblr pic, grew into something angsty and whumpy, and will, hopefully, reach a satisfying fluffy ending (fingers crossed).  It follows Stephen and Tony through the years, touching upon some canon moments from IM and Dr Strange movies.  But it's an AU, so prepare to expect the unexpected ;-)Here's the pic in question: https://somethingjustsouthofbrilliance.tumblr.com/post/176285020790/ssironstrange-stephenstrangeisaho





	1. Chapter 1

_“Humans are dangerous.  Humans are not to be trusted.  Humans only bring death to our kind.”_

These were the words that have been drilled into him since he was but a tiny water nymph, no bigger than a minnow; the words he himself was forced to repeat out loud every morning as he grew old enough to be allowed to swim out to the outer reaches of the mermaid realm, out to where the water became more shallow and the fish more scattered, out to where the human presence made itself known. 

 

Most merfolk avoided drawing too close to that invisible border separating them from the human world, content to warily watch their movements from afar.  Stephen, however, has always been fascinated by them.  And then one day he swam out farther than was permitted, following a foolish dare from one of his friends, and he treaded water dangerously close to shore, able for the first time ever to see the detail of land life so unbelievably, so eye-wideningly close.  And that’s when he saw… _him._

The human that captured Stephen’s imagination seemed young, close to Stephen’s own age, although Stephen wasn’t sure if human years differed from those of merfolk.  He was sitting on the very edge of a long wooden platform that jutted out into the water, bare feet (and yes, Stephen had noticed the peculiar skins humans tended to wear on their oddly shaped legs) dangling over the blue expanse, thin arms curled tightly around his midsection as if he were trying to hold himself together somehow.  Stephen was close enough that, with his sharp senses, he could see the tracks of tears glistening on the human’s cheeks, could pick up the uneven, hitched rhythm of his breaths, as the human shuddered in his own embrace. 

 

Intrigued, Stephen moved closer, inexplicably drawn toward the other’s pain.  And stopped, frozen in apprehension and fear, when the human raised his dark head suddenly and stared right at him, large brown eyes diving deep into his own, momentarily depriving him of his own ability to breathe.  The human blinked, pale delicate face softening into an expression of awe, mouth opening as if he were about to call out.  And that’s when Stephen’s strangely numbed brain came back out of its stupor and he dove quickly back under water, his tail kicking up a foamy spray as he hurried to get away.

 

***

 

That night Stephen dreamt of a rocky shore spattered with beautiful lush green and of a pair of hauntingly beautiful eyes the color of the ocean floor.  He woke up needing to see those eyes again, starving for the sight of them.  And he couldn’t wait to return to the shore again, hoping that the human would be there, too.  Dreading to find that he wasn’t.

 

He swam out as far as he dared, poked his head out of the water, peeking carefully from behind one of the giant rocks that lined the approach to the shore.  And felt his heart stutter in timid excitement when he spotted the familiar figure squatting down on the edge of the wooden platform.

 

“Hey.”  The human spotted him, too, and stood up, waving a shy hand in greeting.  And there was eagerness in those brown eyes, the same kind that Stephen felt thrumming through his own veins.

 

“Hello,” he returned, venturing closer a bit, hovering just outside the shadow of the rock.

 

The human smiled, bright and warm, like the sun when it hits the sparkling blue surface.  Jumped unhesitatingly down into the waves that lapped hungrily up to his chest, hand extended toward Stephen in expectation.  “I’m Tony.”

 

Stephen lingered, frozen in place by years and years of anti-human indoctrination.  _“Humans are dangerous,”_ his father’s voice echoed in his head, stern and warning.  _“Don’t get close to them.  You’ll only get hurt.”_   But this human, _Tony_ , didn’t look dangerous.  He looked small and fragile.  And the eyes that sought out Stephen’s were wide and curious and _kind_. 

 

And Stephen found himself moving forward.

***

 

It became a routine for them since that day.  Stephen swam out to the shoreline every morning as soon as it was possible, and Tony would already be there waiting for him with some strange mask of his own design.  It allowed him to breathe, Tony had explained.  Allowed him to explore Stephen’s world up close. 

And explore they did.  For hours that passed all too quickly for both of their liking.  Until the sky above the waters grew dark and Tony had to hurry home.

 

Stephen didn’t like it when Tony went home.  And not just because he missed his presence something fierce, like he imagined he’d miss water if it were suddenly taken away from him.   Not just because somehow, somewhere between one flip of his tail and the next, Stephen became hopelessly, completely, soul-piercingly in love. 

But because of the haunted, almost scared look Stephen saw in Tony’s eyes whenever it was time for him to return.  The reluctance Stephen felt coming off of him in waves.  And because of the dark, painful looking bruises that occasionally stood out on the delicate skin of Tony’s face, arms and back.   Those bruises didn’t belong on Tony’s skin, and Stephen hated them.  Much like he hated the soft glisten of tears he sometimes glimpsed in those soulful brown eyes. 

 

Whatever or whoever was in that house was hurting Tony, Stephen was sure of it, even if Tony himself refused to talk about it.  And he wanted nothing more than to take Tony away from it, to take him home, to keep him safe.  But Tony was human, and even if, by some miracle, Stephen managed to convince the Sea Witch to work her magic on Tony to make him able to live underwater, merfolk would never allow a human to enter their ranks.  Despite the fact that Tony wasn’t anything like the humans the merfolk cautionary tales warned about.   So Stephen never did tell his parents about Tony, afraid that they would forbid him from ever seeing him again.  Avoided swimming with Tony anywhere close to where one of the merfolk could see the two of them together.  But he did his best to keep Tony with him in the water longer and longer each day.

 

Until one day they stayed in the water too long and Tony simply didn’t show up on the wooden platform the next morning.

 

Or the next.

 

Or the next.


	2. Chapter 2

A week has passed without Tony, and the deep, gnawing sense of worry Stephen experienced when he first saw the empty wooden platform remained with him during all that time.  He couldn’t help thinking of that large, imposing house on the edge of the tree line, of its thick dark walls that hid the even darker secrets of Tony’s land life.  Couldn’t help the troublesome images that haunted his mind whenever he tried to imagine what might be happening to Tony behind those walls.  Couldn’t help the sharp twinge of guilt at the thought that his own selfish need to keep Tony closer may have cost him his friend.

 

He kept swimming faithfully out to the shore every morning and every evening before the sun set, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tony, even if fleeting.  Hoping that Tony would come back.

 

Finally, at the end of ten nerve-wrecking days, Stephen’s perseverance paid off, and his heart leapt with joy when he spotted the familiar dark-haired silhouette sitting at the water’s edge far ahead.  Joy that transformed into horror the closer he drew to shore.  Because Tony looked a shadow of his former self.  He seemed thinner somehow, hunched in on himself like he was the first time that Stephen ever saw him.  His skin, what little Stephen could see of it, has lost most of its sweet golden hue, a sickly pallor having taken its place.  A deep crimson scar crisscrossed with an even row of stitches ran from the edge of his left eyebrow across his temple, getting lost somewhere in the dark unruly mop.  A large, yellowish bruise fanned out from the ugly injury, swallowing up the pale skin underneath.  His left arm hung unmoving in a fabric cradle of some sort, fastened tight to his chest.  

 

Stephen dove under the surface then, swam faster than he ever had before, his body gliding below wind-tousled expanse with unimpeded, furious ease.  Because Tony was hurt.  Badly.  And the fury Stephen felt toward the inhabitants of that damned house was only eclipsed by the urgent, blinding need to get to Tony, to wrap his arms around him and hold him, hold him, _hold him_.  Nothing else existed for him at that moment but that small, fragile human on the shore still too far out of reach.

 

Tony raised his head as if sensing Stephen’s presence, his brown eyes eagerly scanning the already darkening waters before him.  Stephen paused his forward dash then, broke the surface once more, waiting for Tony’s gaze settle on his bobbing figure.   And knew the exact moment Tony spotted him because of a genuine happy smile that lit up his pale face, one that Stephen couldn’t help but return.  But Stephen’s smile didn’t linger. Because he was closer to the shore now, and Tony’s injuries looked even more appalling this close.  And for the first time in his life Stephen felt the overwhelming urge to go to the Witch and beg her to give him human feet, even if only for a day, so he could go up to that house on the shore and tear into whatever coward that was hiding behind those walls, hurting someone as precious as Tony. 

 

That need, the intensity of it, it surprised Stephen, gave him pause.  Never before in his life did he experience anything remotely like this.  He didn’t just love Tony, he realized.  He was willing to become _human_ for him, if only to protect him from the dangers of the human world.  

 

_Great Gods of the Ocean, if only his parents could see him now…_

He shook his head, chasing these thoughts away for another time.  Focused once more on what was important in the here and now – getting to Tony.   

 

Only something changed in Tony’s demeanor.  He was standing now, face worried, tense, words of alarm spilling from his lips, his right arm waving frantically, pointing at something behind Stephen’s back.  And Stephen, still so completely fixated on Tony, had but a moment to register an odd rumbling sound behind him, to see the ugly pointed nose of a metal beast (the kind his parents had warned him to stay away from so many times) cutting through the waves toward him…  He ducked under water, desperately trying to twist away from the sharp blades he knew churned the waters behind the metal monstrosity.  But it was already too late. 

 

The enormous shadow ripped through the water where his head had been only a fraction of a second before, the sudden turbulence flipping him over, whipping him around like a fish caught in a waterspout.  His head spun, his world momentarily consumed by the maddening whirlpool of blue and white as he struggled valiantly to break out of its deadly hold.  

 

He almost made it, too.  Until a sharp, breath-robbing pain sliced through the side of his tail, the blade’s vicious path changing the planned trajectory of his escape, twisting him around one last time and sending him head-first into the gathering darkness below.

 

***

 

Darkness receded slowly, letting awareness seep in.  He became conscious of a sandy surface underneath him, of shallow waves lapping nearby, of a dull, throbbing ache in the side of his tail.

 

There were human voices close by: an unfamiliar worried tone speaking over Tony’s oddly strained one.  He listened, eyes closed, trying to discern the words, to figure out what was going on.

 

_“This is highly imprudent, Master Anthony.  If your father finds out….”_

_“He won’t, Jarvis. I–”_

 

_“You can’t be sure of that, Sir.  You simply cannot risk it.”_

There was a sigh, long and defeated, and Tony’s voice when he spoke again sounded more tired than Stephen had ever heard him.  _“What else can he possibly do to me, Jarvis?  Break more of my bones?”_

_“Sir…”_

_“Bones heal.  And I’ve had worse.  Whatever Howard throws at me, I can handle it.  I’ll survive.  But this?  Losing Stephen?  I don’t think I can survive that.”_

_“He will kill you.”_ The concern in this Jarvis person’s voice scraped raw against Stephen’s nerves, made his blood boil with fury once more.

 

Tony’s quiet, somber response made his blood run cold.

 

_“Then it’ll be worth it.”_   

 

Stephen made a choked sound of protest at that, eyes flying open in alarm.  

 

“Stephen!”  And Tony was right there, kneeling beside him in the wet sand – pale, so frighteningly pale in the gathering dusk. Stephen stared up at him, hungrily taking in all the details: the lines of pain around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, the wet bangs plastered across his forehead, the soaked clothes, the slight tremble of the cold hand that lay gently against Stephen’s cheek….

“You pulled me out,” he murmured, voice hoarse with pain and awe, as he tried to wrap his mind around the knowledge that Tony went after him into water; that he rescued Stephen out of his own element, dragged him to safety.  “You’re injured.  You… you could have drowned.”

 

“Nearly did,” the second voice cut in dryly, and Stephen spared the other human a quick, wary look before Tony’s response pulled his attention back.

 

“It was worth it.”

 

“No!” he shook his head, grasping Tony’s hand in his with strength enough to bruise, the memory of Tony’s earlier similar assertion stilling the very breath in his lungs.  “It’s not… you… you’re…”  His tail twitched in distress, his words stumbling to a disorderly halt, and he hissed sharply as the dull pain from before made itself known with a vengeance. 

 

Tony’s hand moved – a firm, restraining weight against his chest. “Easy,” and there was a pinched, worried smile on Tony’s face.  “Take it easy. You’re alright.”

 

“And you’re in danger,” Stephen countered through gritted teeth, panting his way through the gradually subsiding agony.  “Because of me.”

 

Something flickered in the dark brown eyes, the smile growing just a tad too forced.  “It’s not polite to eavesdrop, Fishbrain,” he chided, the smile now painfully tight.  “Gonna make people paranoid like that.”  And there was that same overwhelming, bone-deep weariness in his voice that Stephen heard earlier, a note of resigned acceptance that made Stephen’s heart twist in worry.

 

“Tony…”   

 

“Your wound is still bleeding,” Tony cut in, studiously avoiding his gaze.  “I need to get you some fresh bandages.” 

 

He planted his right hand into the sand beside him, pushed himself up to his feet.  And Stephen cried out in alarm, when Tony’s face grew inexplicably paler still and he swayed on the spot, careened helplessly to the side.

 

The other human, _Jarvis_ , was right there, arms wrapped protectively around Tony’s frame, holding him up, and Stephen felt a jolt of gratitude toward this older human for doing something Stephen was unable to do, for keeping Tony safe. 

 

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Tony murmured breathlessly, the pinched features and the tightly closed eyes belying his words.  “Just this damn concussion,” and Tony sounded apologetic now, and Stephen didn’t understand. 

 

He didn’t know what that word meant, but if that _concussion_ was what made Tony almost fall back down, there was no reason for him to apologize for it.  It wasn’t Tony’s fault.  He was injured, he was in pain, he was…

 

“You’re exhausted, Sir,” Jarvis spoke up, gently easing Tony back down onto the ground next to Stephen.  “Stay here.  I’ll bring more supplies.”   


	3. Chapter 3

Merfolk healed fast, much faster than humans, and soon enough Stephen was already back in the ocean, his tail as strong as ever.  Tony, on the other hand, was still bothered by headaches and his arm was still in a sling.  And that was precisely why Stephen was this very minute hovering outside the gnarly, lava-charred entrance to an underwater cave, the very sight of which instilled fear into the hearts of sea dwellers – the witch’s lair.  Not many dared come this close to the cave, fewer still ever dared enter.  And of those who did few, if any, were ever heard from again.

 

So Stephen hesitated, fear warring with an urgent, burning desire to act, to do what needed to be done to keep Tony safe.  He took a deep breath, pictured Tony’s face before him – his soft smile, the warm sparkle of his eyes, remembered the feel of Tony’s hand against his skin.  He could do this, he told himself.  He had to. There was no other way.

 

***

 

“Lost, young one?” A deep, crackly voice came from the darkness above him as he made his way into the cave, and he started violently, his heart hammering loud in his chest.

 

“No,” he replied, digging his fingernails into the skin of his palms in an effort to keep his voice from shaking.  “I’m here to ask you for a favor.”  And then he waited, breath stuttering in his lungs as he watched the darkness above him thicken and condense, spill goop-like from the cracked ceiling, soundlessly hitting the ground beside him, and then morph with threatening swiftness into a tall creature with a mer-like tail, blindingly white skin and a hissing tangle of snakes in lieu of hair.

 

“A favor, eh?”  Piercing green eyes stared down at Stephen, boring, it seemed, into his very soul.  And then the witch cackled, long and loud, the sound echoing off the walls around them.  “The little merteen is in love!” she roared, and the snakes on her head bounced up and down in concert with her body as it shook with laughter.  “And with a human, no less.”

 

Stephen pressed his lips together, willing himself to stay calm, to not let the witch know just how much her observation rattled him.  “I am,” he admitted simply, because what was the point of lying to someone who could, apparently, read your mind.

 

“An ill-fated love affair.” The witch rubbed her hands together, smacked her lips as if she had just enjoyed a particularly tasty treat. “Oh, I do love the pathetic beat of the broken hearts….  Tell me, little merteen,” she sidled up closer, arms wrapping tentacle-like around Stephen’s shoulders, her suddenly sultry voice purring in his ear, “tell me what it is you want me to help you with.  Would you like me to make your human one of us, sea-dwellers?  To make _you_ human, perhaps?  Or… to make your heart forget?” 

 

She pulled one arm away from him, waved at the darkened walls around them and the walls lit up, revealing a seemingly endless collection of jars and vials lining every niche from the floor to the ceiling. “Take your pick, young one – I have potions here for every taste and occasion.  But keep in mind,” she turned back to face him, lips pulled back in a smile that revealed a row of sharp, predatory teeth, “they all come with a price.”

 

“No, I…”  He swallowed tightly, trying to hide his nervousness.  Squared his shoulders.  “Someone… another human has been hurting him.  I want to make him stop.”

 

The witch scoffed at that, waving her hand in dismissal.  “Humans are vile, evil creatures, my little merman friend.  They all deserve whatever cruelty another inflicts upon them.”

 

“Not him,” Stephen shook his head empathically.  “He’s not like other humans.  He’s… he’s warm and kind.  He…”  He dropped his gaze under the intense, uncomfortable scrutiny.  Added in a quiet murmur, “He risked his life to save mine, and I just… I want to keep him safe.  It’s the least I can do.”

 

The witch regarded him silently for an interminable minute, the green in her eyes fluctuating oddly between a rich dark emerald and a pale washed out moss.  “Very well,” she remarked finally and placed her alabaster hand in front of Stephen’s face.  An instant later a small dark bottle appeared in the middle of her open palm. 

“This little vial here will allow you to project your consciousness wherever you wish, take on whichever form you like, and perform as you direct it.” She curled her long, black-taloned fingers around the glass, smirking as the contents within it shimmered dark green as if in response to her words.  “Whatever you wish to do to the human that’s hurting your… _love_ , you can do it right in the comfort of this cave.”

 

Stephen stared at the vial, dubious and perplexed.  “That’s it? I stay right here and my… _projection_ does what I want it to do?  And I can make it look human?  And touch?  And talk?”

 

“Anything you wish, darling,” the witch purred, placing the vial in Stephen’s hand, black talons circling his wrist as he moved to pull away.  “But talking will cost you extra.”

 

“What do you want?” He stiffened, mouth going dry. 

 

The witch’s teeth glimmered hungrily in the gloom of the cave.  “The potion temporarily takes back what it offers,” she explained, her smile turning cryptic.  “You wish for your projected form to cross the shoreline into the world of the humans, as payment your corporeal form will be unable to approach the shore past the merfolk boundary.  You wish for it to speak, and the potion will take away your voice.”

 

A cold chill travelled down Stephen’s spine at the witch’s words, his mind churning over the implications.  “Ho…how long?”

 

“Every minute in your projected form equals a day in your corporeal one.”  The witch drew closer, the snakes hissing with her movement, their forked tongues darting out dangerously close to Stephen’s face.  “So I suggest you hurry, little one.”  Then added, pulling back with a cackle, “Unless you changed your mind.”

 

Stephen closed his eyes, wondered not for the first time that evening if he was making a mistake.  The witch was dangerous and cunning, everyone knew that.  He was playing with fire.  And if his plan didn’t work, he would be stuck for days (if not longer) away from shore, too far away from Tony, without even the ability to call out to him. 

But what if it did?  What if it did work, and this awful creature named Howard left Tony alone?  Wouldn’t that be worth a few days of suffering away from his love – the knowledge that his love was now safe?  The answer was self-evident.

 

“I’ll take the potion.”

 

***

 

He stood in the middle of the cave, his throat burning from the bitter aftertaste of the potion.  He felt odd, his body – a heavily anchored monolithic weight, his mind weightless and free.  He watched, mesmerized, as the familiar dark house loomed before him, his spirit form moving forward, passing effortlessly through the walls.  He moved from room to room, soundless, invisible to any he wished to avoid, struggling not to become overwhelmed by the strange surroundings.  He was on a clock, he reminded himself. The longer he stayed here, the longer he’d be separated from Tony.  He needed to hurry up.

 

A soft whimper caught his ear, and he paused by the partially open bedroom door, peered into the moonlit darkness within.  A familiar lanky figure lay tangled amid sleep-tossed covers, curled protectively over a casted arm.  _Tony._ He was asleep, but that sleep looked far from restful.  The skin of Tony’s face, made gray by the pale light streaming through the uncurtained window, was pinched as if in pain, eyes moving rapidly behind closed eyelids. 

His feet carried him forward without his mind’s conscious command, and he found himself kneeling at Tony’s bedside, his transparent hand hovering tentatively over the teen’s sleeping form.  Tony was dreaming – a dream that was anything but pleasant from the looks of it, but still a dream.  He was in no immediate danger, and Stephen really needed to hurry up.  But Tony was in distress, and Stephen couldn’t just leave him like that.

 

He reached out, gently brushing back the dark hair plastered to Tony’s forehead.  Leaned in, pressing a quick soft kiss to the still-healing skin at the edge of his eyebrow, right over the pulse point.  Tony shifted without waking, turning minutely into the touch, a murmured exhale of “Stephen” falling prayer-like from the pale lips.  His breathing deepened, the lines of pain that crossed his forehead smoothing out.

 

“Sleep,” Stephen whispered, hand lingering over the sweat-soaked curls.  “It’ll all be alright now.  Sleep.”

 

He forced himself to walk away then, moved swiftly through the rest of the house, unwilling to lose any more precious minutes. Howard, he needed to find Howard.

 

***

 

Howard was not the kind of human Stephen expected.  He wasn’t burly or intimidatingly tall.  He had a thin face with a funny little mustache and a receding hairline and beady little eyes that grew wide when he saw Stephen walk through the wall beside him.  He didn’t look like a monster, but Stephen’s father taught him that appearances were often misleading and not all monsters appeared just as hideous on the outside as they were within.  The man before him threatened the health and safety of someone Stephen loved, and that alone made him more of a monster than any Stephen had encountered in the ocean’s depths.  And he had seen some that made his scales stand on end in fright.

 

It was only fitting then, he thought, to have Tony’s father be confronted by someone who on the outside looked as ugly and terrifying as that man’s soul.

 

He sought out an image from his memory – one of a creature that made grown mermen run for cover.  Let it morph over his projected form, taking great pleasure in watching the unmistakable glint of fear in the human’s eyes as he watched the transformation take place before him. 

 

The human backed away from him, opened his mouth, as if to call out for help, and Stephen surged forward, swift and terrifying, pinning him to the wall with his sheer presence.  Snarled vindictively, bringing his mouth – a gaping maw framed by several rows of curved razor-sharp teeth – within an inch of the man’s face. 

 

“Touch your son again and I will devour you for real.”

 

He let the growled out threat linger in the air even as his kraken-like form descended onto the fearfully cowering human, his transparent gorge swallowing the man up before dissolving like fog over the sun-baked ocean surface.

 

***

 

“Done,” Stephen murmured shakily, snapping back into his body with a jolt that nearly sent him to his knees.  “Stop… stop the clock.”

 

The witch favored him with a smile of a predator circling its prey.  Waved her hand.  “Ten minutes,” she announced smugly, and Stephen felt an odd tingle in his throat that announced the intrusion of her magic.  “Ten days.”


	4. Chapter 4

Stephen stopped coming to the shore.  And Tony would have liked to believe it had nothing to do with his accidental revelation of Howard’s treatment of him, but he was no fool.  He knew it had upset Stephen.  Saw the flash of anger cross the pain-pale features.  And then disappointment, inevitable, inescapable.  The story of Tony’s life – he had never been anything but.  For his mother, who silently turned her head away in shame.  For his father, who spat the words to his face even as he beat him senseless (because “that’s all you’re good for, boy!”) 

 

_Stupid.  Worthless.  A waste of space.  Nobody wants you.  Nobody ever will._

These words had been drilled into him day after day, year after year.  And he believed them.  Waded listlessly through his wretched torment of days, wishing for it all to be over, to go to bed one night and to Just. Not. Wake. Up.

 

And then he met Stephen – beautiful, magical Stephen with kind, enchanting eyes, gentle touches and soft, inviting lips.  And for the first time in his life, Tony found himself looking forward to each new day instead of dreading them.  Dared to love.  Dared to hope.

 

He’d been such a fool.

 

Of course, _of course_ , it didn’t last.  It couldn’t have.  Not for someone like him.

 

He remembered the look of regret in Stephen’s eyes when he swam out into the deeper waters, testing his newly healed tail.  Remembered the soft smile of apology before Stephen dove under the waves and disappeared from view. 

 

He should have known.  He was Tony Stark, after all.  A worthless fuckup.   A leper nobody ever wanted to be around.  And Stephen finally saw the same flaws Howard always so enjoyed pointing out.  It just took him a bit longer than most.  But he left all the same.  Everyone always left.

 

Tony blinked, a tear slipping traitorously down the pale cheek.  He wiped it off on his shoulder, gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the task before him.  They were leaving soon.  For good, apparently, according to his father.  Something happened a few days ago that had Howard spooked.  So much so that he decided to abandon the oceanfront property and move everyone and everything across the continent to an old family mansion in New York.  So much so that, when Tony protested the move, fully expecting to face retribution for such open audacity (because the thought of leaving Stephen felt like a knife to the heart, and he honestly didn’t care at that point if Howard decided to murder him for real), Howard didn’t even hit him once.  He had pulled his arm back as if to strike, but he never did.  Just growled at Tony to get a move on or else.  And Tony had been so stunned by the unexpected reprieve that he couldn’t move even if he’d tried.

 

In the end, it didn’t matter.  Stephen was gone, and Tony had no more reason to stay.  No more reason to do anything, really.  To think, to breathe, to exist.  He almost found himself wishing Howard would beat him again, just so he would feel something.  Or maybe stop feeling altogether.  Forever this time.

 

He shook his head, forcing his watering eyes to focus.  Stephen was always curious about the human world, and Tony had promised to make him an internet-ready tablet he could use under water.  Up to the depth of 12, 000 feet is what Tony had in mind.  And Tony was going to keep that promise.  Stephen deserved that much.

It hadn’t been an easy task with one hand that was still mostly useless.  Took him a lot longer than it should have.  But he managed, and the device was finally ready to be tested.

 

He put down the miniature welding tool, closed the back lid, listening to the telltale hiss announcing the activation of the special watertight seal.  Pressed the “on” button, smiling when the screen lit up obediently in response. 

 

It was time to say his goodbyes.

 

***

 

When Jarvis knocked on his door 10 minutes later, calling him to the car, he was ready.    As ready as he was ever going to be.  He just needed to do one last thing.

 

“I’ll just be a minute, Jarvis,” he defended, when the butler placed a cautiously restraining hand on his uninjured shoulder as he tried to slip past him.

 

 

“Beg your pardon, young sir,” Jarvis objected, his tone worried, “but your father is already waiting rather impatiently.  And you know how he gets.”

 

Tony knew, of course he knew.  His body was a perfect map of the way Howard _got_ every time Tony did something he didn’t appreciate.  But he had promised Stephen, and he might not get another chance. 

 

He told Jarvis as much.  Because Jarvis knew.  Jarvis had been there.  Jarvis had seen them.  Jarvis understood.

 

Jarvis gave him a look of such obvious pity that Tony felt his stomach churn in warning, the taste of bile strong in his throat. 

 

“Just give me a minute, Jarvis, please,” he pleaded hoarsely, looking away to hide the tears that were always too close to the surface these days.

 

Jarvis squeezed his shoulder and let go, silently stepping aside.  Tony didn’t hesitate anymore.  Ran as fast as he could out of the house, stopping only when he reached the very edge of the wooden pier – their impromptu meeting place.  He lingered there a moment, scanning the watery horizon before him with a desperate, hopeful gaze. 

 

But it was in vain, and he shook his head in defeat, closing his eyes briefly, allowing himself that one moment of weakness, one moment of grief.  Then he took a breath, small and shaky.  Put the tablet down on the edge of the pier, making sure it was visible from the water.  Straightened out, a broken smile twisting his lips. 

 

“Bye, Stephen.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ten days of the cost extracted by the witch were pure hell, the worst torment Stephen ever had to endure. 

The first couple days had not been so bad.  He could see Tony, at least, standing on the edge of that wooden platform, watching, waiting.  Tony didn’t see him, of course.  Couldn’t.  Not at that distance.  And Stephen was unable to come any closer, unable to call out to him to let him know that he was there, just out of sight.  Unable to ease the teen’s obvious frustration and worry.

 

_“It will be over soon,”_ he kept telling himself.  Just a few more days and he would be able to hold Tony in his arms again, and it would all have been worth it.

 

But then Tony stopped coming, and Stephen felt the first tendrils of worry wrap themselves around his heart.  Did Tony give up on him following his absence?  Or, worse yet, did something happen to him?  What if Howard ignored Stephen’s threat?  What if it didn’t work?  What if that man had done something to Tony?  What if Tony was…?

 

Stephen chased the morbid thoughts away.  Forcefully, angrily.  He couldn’t think like that, he just couldn’t.  Tony was okay.  He had to be.  And Stephen would see him in just a few days – even if that would mean he had to crawl all the way up the shore to do it.

 

Still, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that all would be alright, his heart stuttered in fear, cowering in anticipation of a blow.

 

When the sun began to set on the tenth day of the cursed payment, Stephen was waiting anxiously at the very edge of his imposed boundary, and his heart leapt with joy when he spotted Tony running toward the water.  Tony was okay.  And soon, very soon, they would be reunited, and all would be right.  Tony just needed to wait, just a little bit longer.  Just until the sun went down.

 

Only Tony didn’t wait.  Tony stood there a moment, looking out across the waves, but there was something decidedly desperate in the way his eyes scanned the horizon, in the taut lines of his body.  A desperation that wasn’t there before, that sent a shiver of foreboding down Stephen’s spine.  And then Tony dropped his gaze, his whole body seeming to cave in on itself as desperation gave way to defeat.  And the shiver Stephen felt earlier became a surge of crushing, ice-cold fear, a frigid hand that wrapped itself around his heart and began to squeeze, squeeze, _squeeze_.

 

_Something was wrong_ , his mind screamed at him, even as he silently begged Tony to _wait, please, wait, don’t go!_

 

But Tony bent down to place something onto the wood at his feet, straightened back out, giving the ocean one last longing look, and was gone, oblivious to Stephen’s voiceless pleas.

 

***

 

It was another few hours before the witch’s curse was lifted, and Stephen zoomed toward the shore, all caution forgotten.  The house Tony lived in was dark, not a single light in the windows, though the sun has already set and Stephen knew humans liked to ward off darkness with their bright artificial lights. 

_Perhaps they were just asleep_ , he tried to reason with himself.  But the argument felt just as empty as the house that loomed in the distance – the emptiness that screamed at him that Tony wasn’t there.

 

Still he persisted.  Swam back and forth in front of the shore, calling out Tony’s name as loud as his newly returned voice let him.

 

It was in vain, and only the echo of his own hoarse cries answered him from the thickening darkness, despair making his limbs cold.  A memory of Tony placing something onto the wooden platform flashed across his mind, and he rushed toward it, frantic.  Reached for the silvery object lying there.

 

_A tablet_.  Stephen had watched Tony work with one many times.  Had played with one himself under Tony’s instruction.  Had enjoyed it immensely, too – the wealth of information that device contained, the almost magical abilities it possessed.  Tony had promised to make him one, he remembered.  _So this must have been…_

 

He turned it on, pressed a shaking finger on the blinking message icon.  And his breath hitched at the sight of the familiar, dear face that filled the screen. 

 

“Hi, Stephen.”

 

***

 

_“So, how’re you liking your new toy?  Bet you didn’t expect me to get it done so quickly, huh?”_  The false cheer faded from Tony’s voice, his smile falling, morphing into something small, brittle.  _“Damn….”_  

 

He ran a hand tiredly down his face, the camera unable to hide the tremble of his work-scarred fingers.  The hand dropped limply out of the camera’s view, and Tony glanced back up, a worn, defeated look in the dark, red-rimmed eyes. _“I was hoping I’d be doing this in person.”_  He huffed, bitter.  Muttered quietly under his breath, _“No surprise though.  I never get what I want.”_

There was a pause as Tony seemed to collect himself, and then he plowed on, hurriedly, as though afraid that if he were to stop he wouldn’t be able to keep going.

 

_“We’re leaving.  Moving to New York.  It’s a… uhm… it’s far.  You can look it up on the maps after, if you want.  The house is going up for sale, so… it’s pretty permanent, I guess.  Don’t know why.”_   He shrugged, unaware of the turmoil his words caused.   _“I think Howard got really spooked by something the other day.  I overheard him telling mother that we needed to get out of here, move inland.”_  

 

Stephen paled, white-knuckled fingers gripping the tablet with enough force to shatter the device were it made by anyone other than Tony.  _He caused this,_ was all he could think over the deafening roar of blood in his ears.  Tony was gone, and it was all his fault.  His pathetic attempt to fix things, to make them better only served to make them worse, to rip Tony away from him.  Possibly forever.

And the witch knew.  She must have.  Must have somehow glimpsed this outcome with her evil magic.  Why else would she have looked so inexplicably pleased when he had made that deal?  Why else would she…

 

He felt dizzy all of a sudden, and he sagged heavily against the wooden platform, the tablet shaking in his grip.  Tried his best to focus on the words that onscreen Tony was speaking.

 

_“… been all bad.  Howard hasn’t actually hit me once in the past week.  If he keeps this up, I might just survive New York.”_ The corners of Tony’s mouth quirked up in a small, humorless smile that disappeared all too quickly. 

_“I miss you, Stephen,”_ came the quiet, broken admission, and the raw, unfiltered pain in the amber-warm depths echoed with sharp intensity in Stephen’s heart.  _“I miss you so damn much.”_

Tony’s voice cut out, pale cheeks glistening with freshly spilled tears.  And Stephen ached to touch him, fingers ghosting over the screen as they traced the path of Tony’s tears.

 

_“I… uh… I put my phone number in the contacts, in case you need… in case you have questions or something.  You don’t… uh… you don’t have to call,”_ Tony added hurriedly, looking anywhere but at the camera.  _“You can delete the number if you want.”_   The suggestion seemed like it physically pained Tony if the way he flinched when he said it was anything to go by.

 

Tony closed his eyes briefly, lifting his face up as if to stem the flow of tears.  Leaned closer, resting one hand on the screen.  Smiled a wobbly, watery smile.

 

_“Bye, Stephen.”_

 

The message ended, Tony’s image fading to black, and Stephen stared into the blackness for exactly half a beat of his shattered heart before his fingers moved woodenly to the Contacts icon.


	6. Chapter 6

They talked a lot after that day; every chance they got.  It wasn’t as often as Stephen would have liked, but it was better than the alternative.  At least he got to see Tony, got to hear his voice, to watch him smile. 

 

Then Tony’s parents died, and Tony’s world got turned upside down once more.

 

Stephen found out about the deaths almost two weeks after they happened, when Tony finally contacted him after ignoring Stephen’s increasingly worried attempts to call him.  It was an awful, awful conversation where Tony slurred drunkenly at the camera, hollow-eyed and bitter.

 

“I miss them,” he admitted, eyes red and voice filled with so much self-loathing it made Stephen’s skin crawl.  “I actually miss the man who used me as his daily punching bag.  How fucked up is that?” 

He chuckled darkly, lifting a bottle of dark amber liquid to his lips and taking a long sip, grimacing at the taste.  And Stephen felt his heart stutter in despair as he searched for the right words to say.

 

_It was alright_ , he tried to tell him.  It was normal.  The man may have been a monster, but he was still Tony’s father, the only one he knew.  It was… understandable to grieve. 

 

Tony stared blindly into the camera, hand squeezing the neck of the bottle.  Shook his head with a horrified murmur of, “What the hell is wrong with me?”  And then he was gone, the call cutting out before Stephen had a chance to protest.

 

Things became oddly strained between them after that, and Tony’s calls became few and far between.  More often than not Tony seemed distracted, on edge and cut their conversations short because some guy named Obie demanded his attention.  Stephen knew not to be jealous of that man.  He kept up with the current events thanks to Tony’s tablet and read enough to know that this Obie (Stane, Obadiah Stane, according to the internet articles) was a friend of Howard’s and that he’d taken on the role of Tony’s guardian until Tony was old enough by human standards to take over his father’s company.  But there was something unsettling in the way this Obadiah person always seemed to hover nearby whenever Tony was on the call with Stephen.  Or the unnaturally possessive way in which that man kept his arm around Tony’s shoulders in all the online pictures Stephen was able to find – tall and imposing, with a shiny hairless head and cold hungry eyes, he looked like a predator, towering over Tony’s smaller, fragile form.

 

Stephen didn’t like it.  Any of it.  Nor did he like the look in Tony’s eyes whenever Obadiah was near – muted, dull, his smile fake.  It reminded Stephen a bit too much of the look Tony got when Stephen asked him about Howard’s abuse, and he didn’t know what to make of it.  Tony wasn’t sporting any obvious injuries – none that Stephen could see.  But there was a kind of resigned acceptance in every line of his body, a carelessness of defeat.  It left a gnawing, aching feeling in Stephen’s chest.

 

“I want to see you,” Stephen blurted out one day, because Tony was just sitting there, pale and distracted, tinkering with something out of camera’s view, and Stephen was struck with an urgent, razor-sharp need to hold him, to see the warm light of those eyes shine on him again, to feel that smooth skin under his fingertips, to see him smile.  _God, he missed Tony’s smile!_

Tony looked up, blinking owlishly at the screen.  “You’re seeing me right now,” he murmured, brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“Not like this.” Stephen shook his head, brought the tablet closer.  “In person. I need… I miss you, Tony.” 

 

Tony’s eyes widened a fraction, and then his expression crumpled, his gaze dropping as if in shame.  “I got… there’s so much to do now that Howard’s dead.  The company… Howard got this big military contract and I… Obie says I gotta step up, you know, or the company will suffer.”  His hands continued to move restlessly as he spoke, cheeks flushing with shame.  “I have to… I’ll be taking over in a few years, and I can’t.… It’s my father’s company, I….”  He trailed off, running a trembling hand down his face.  Let out an equally shaky sigh that ended on a choked-off sob.  “I’m sorry,” he heaved out, words muffled by his hand.  “I want to come back, I do, but I can’t right now… not… not for a while.  I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.  You should… you don’t have to…”  Tony waved helplessly between them, seeming unable to utter whatever words that appeared to be lodged in his throat, and Stephen frowned, dismayed, as he saw the glimmer of tears trapped in the mesh of Tony’s eyelashes. 

 

“I’ll wait for you,” he blurted out, knowing in his heart what it was that Tony was trying to say and needing to tell him the truth before his resolve abandoned him.  “No matter how long it takes.  No, Tony, listen,” he insisted, when the latter shook his head in denial, eyes squeezing shut to stop the flow of tears. “Look at me, Tony, _please_!” 

 

He waited patiently until a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes settled hesitantly on his own.  “There’s one thing about merfolk you should know,” he began, latching on to Tony’s gaze as to a lifeline, willing for that connection to give him the strength to say what he was about to say.  Took a deep, steadying breath.  “Mers fall in love only once in their lifetime, and when it happens it’s forever.  So when I tell you that I will wait for you for as long as it takes, it’s not just words, you see.” He smiled shakily as Tony’s eyes widened in realization.  Added softly, “I say it because I don’t really have any choice in the matter.  Not anymore.  Not ever.”

 

Tony blinked rapidly, tears spilling unchecked down the once again pale cheeks.  “Me? But… I…”

 

“You,” Stephen asserted, his smile growing at the expression of open, vulnerable hope in the watery browns.  “You’re it for me, Tony.  There’ll be no other.  No matter what.”

 

Tony stared back at him for a long breathless moment, lips pressed tightly together as if he were trying desperately to hold back the words.  Then he threw a quick furtive glance over his shoulder as if checking to see if anyone was listening in, leaned closer to the screen.  “I’ll come back to Cali,” he promised, voice hushed.  “It… it may take me a few years, but I’ll come back.”  _“To you,”_ was left unsaid.

 

Stephen nodded his understanding, ignoring the twinge of pain at the knowledge that it would be a long while before he would be able to hold Tony in his arms again.  It didn’t matter.  He would wait forever if that was how long it took.  Time mattered little to a mer in love. 

 

So he smiled, raising his hand to the screen to trace the dear features.  “I’ll wait for you,” he repeated simply. 

 

And so he did.


	7. Chapter 7

_An explosion, loud and powerful.  Pain – awful, tearing pain in his chest.  Hands on him – hostile, restraining.  Hands cutting into him, digging, digging, digging.  He screams, pleads for them to stop, but they are deaf to his pleas.  They punish him instead – force his head under water, arms wrenched brutally behind his back as he thrashes helplessly in their grip.  Something sparks in his chest – a terrible, fiery jolt that tears through him over and over and over, his mouth opening in a helpless gurgle of a scream.  And water rushes in, and there’s no air, and he can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe…_

 

Stephen jolted awake, the scream of Tony’s name dying on his lips.  It was the same dream, the same goddamn nightmare, every single night for the past month.  Tony’s pain, Tony’s torture – so vivid, he could feel every excruciating moment of it, along with the fear and the hopelessness of despair.  He felt like he was slowly losing his mind.

 

Tony was fine, he knew that.  They still talked at least two-three times a week, even though years have passed since Stephen’s confession, and there was still the same warmth in Tony’s eyes whenever he looked at Stephen.  Tony was busy designing new weapons for his company under Obadiah’s hawk-like supervision.  And there have been no explosions, no bearded strangers shoving Tony’s head under water, no crude metal discs being forced deep into Tony’s chest, replaced with a brilliantly glowing, mesmerizing blue light. 

 

Tony was whole.  Tony was safe.  Tony was fine.

 

Only Stephen’s nightmares wouldn’t stop.

 

***

 

“Need another favor, young one?” the witch’s voice crackled behind him, and it took all of Stephen’s willpower not to flinch at the unexpectedness of it.

 

“I need your help,” he said, turning slowly to allow his heart a moment to calm its maddening pace.

 

“Do you now.”  The witch canted her head, eyeing him closely with her uncannily bright green eyes.  “And what is it you need help with, young mer?”

 

Stephen blinked, getting the uncomfortable feeling that the witch already knew what he had come here to say, and wondering not for the first time if it was a good idea coming here.  “I keep having the same dream about my One.  I… I need to know what it means.”  

 

And this time he did flinch as the witch slid closer, black-taloned fingers pressing hard against his temple.  The snakes stilled, hovering in a frozen halo around her head, and he felt his breath hitch as he watched the brilliant emerald green spread outward from her irises, covering her eyes completely in an eerie, sinister glow.

An instant later she broke contact, leaving his skin tingling from sudden, bone-chilling cold.  The witch smiled, sharp teeth glistening in the gloom of the cave. 

 

“Not a dream,” she purred, eyes slowly returning to normal.  “A premonition.”

 

“Pre…premonition?” Stephen echoed, his mouth going dry at the implication.

 

The witch cackled, not even bothering to hide her amusement.  “Yes, darling.  Your One is in for some unpleasant times soon.”

 

“Can you stop it?”  Stephen pushed back into the witch’s space, heedless of the warning hiss of the snakes that had once again come alive around her head, his worry for Tony overriding his sense of self-preservation.  “Please, I gotta–”

 

“Stop it?” The witch scoffed, face souring in distaste.  “Even if I wanted to help a _human_ , I couldn’t.  My powers don’t extend beyond the ocean.” She waved one alabaster hand toward the cave entrance.  “Go home, silly little mer,” she said, voice haughty with dismissal.  “If your One is worth all the trouble you’ve put yourself through on his behalf, he’ll survive whatever is in store for him.  And if not…” 

 

She cackled again, loud and perversely delighted, and Stephen backed away from her and all but flew out of her lair, the mocking laughter ringing in his ears. 

He needed to get home, was all he could think.  He needed to get on the tablet and call Tony.  To tell him what he’d seen.  To warn him. 

Perhaps, if Tony knew of the danger… Perhaps he could safeguard himself somehow.  Avoid it even.  Stephen would warn him and all would be well.

 

There was only one small problem with that plan of his: when Stephen came back home, his tablet was nowhere to be found.


	8. Chapter 8

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” 

 

The quiet familiar voice came from the doorway, and he whirled toward it, a pile of books he had pulled off a shelf in the hopes of finding the tablet somehow stashed behind them cluttering to the floor.  “Christine?”

 

He stared, confused, as his mermaid friend swept gracefully into the room, wrinkling her nose at the mess of books and knickknacks scattered across the floor.

 

“I think it’s missing a woman’s touch, don’t you agree?”  She smiled seductively at him, raised her hand to tuck a lock of golden brown hair behind her ear, tilting her head as she did so.  “I could help.”

 

Stephen shook his head, biting down on an irrational flare of irritation.  “I appreciate the offer, Christine, but there’s no need.  I’m just trying to find something.”

 

“Ah.”

 

There was something in the way she said it, in the way her pretty face twisted with annoyance before she looked guiltily away, that got Stephen’s hackles up.

 

“Where is it?” He was in her space within the span of a heartbeat, pinning her with his glare.  “The tablet, Christine, what did you do with it?”

 

She shrunk back from him, trying to make for the door, but he caught her, hands wrapping around her shoulders in a bruising grip.

 

“Let go,” she tried, writhing in his grasp.  “You’re hurting me, Stephen, please!”

 

“I need that tablet, Christine,” he growled, ignoring her flinch as he shook her.  “Tell me what you did with it.  Now!”

 

There was a flash of anger in the hazel eyes, her pretty face transforming with it, becoming unrecognizable almost.  She pursed her lips, raising her head in defiance.   “You’re better off without it,” she spat, meeting him glare for glare.  “Look at you!  You’ve been obsessing with that thing for years, ignoring your family, your friends, people who _love_ you!  All that – for a _human_!”  She sneered, the word falling from her lips like a curse.  “Nothing good ever comes from the humans, Stephen, you know that.  I did you a favor.”

 

“A favor?”  He dropped his hands as if she’d burned him.  Floated back a step.  “You think you did me a favor by keeping me from my One?”

 

Her eyes widened at that, cheeks flushing – with anger or shame, he wasn’t entirely sure.  An instant later she regained her composure.  Huffed with derision, dismissing his words.  “How can a human possibly be your One, Stephen?  They’re not like us.  It isn’t natural.  Your parents agree – it’s best for you to pick someone from your own kind.  Someone who’s been by your side all these years.”  She moved closer, her gaze softening.  Her tongue darted out, gliding suggestively over her full, red lips, one hand reaching toward him.  “Someone who loves you.”

 

He recoiled, shaking his head with a mixture of disappointment and disgust.  “What’s so unnatural about love, huh, Christine?”

 

She frowned at him, hand frozen in midair as if she were still expecting him to move back toward her.  “Stephen, I–”

 

“And since when do you and my parents know better than Fate?” he interrupted, voice trembling with barely restrained fury.  “Since when do you get to decide others’ happiness?”

 

“A human can never make you happy, Stephen,” she objected feebly, her face crumpling with realization of defeat.  “I could–”

 

“No.”  He shook his head again, cold and inexorable.  “You couldn’t.”  He narrowed his gaze at her, held out his hand expectantly.  “The tablet, Christine.  Please.”

 

She blinked, a tear sliding down her delicate cheek.  Nodded with mute resignation and ducked out, tail swishing mournfully behind her. 

She was back moments later, Tony’s tablet clutched in her hands.  “It’s a doomed relationship, Stephen,” she warned, reluctantly handing over the device, which he snatched eagerly.  “It would only bring you pain.”

 

“At least it will be the pain _I_ have chosen to bear.  The pain my heart has accepted and embraced,” he responded curtly, a bitter, weary smile twisting his lips.  “Better than having to live the life of pain someone else has chosen _for_ you.”

 

He turned away from her then, dismissing her altogether.  He needed to call Tony, and he was desperately hoping that it wasn’t too late.

 

***

 

It was another ten minutes before his increasingly despairing calls were finally answered, but it wasn’t Tony’s familiar face that filled his screen.

 

“Stephen, right?” Small, predatory eyes stared back at him from behind Tony’s desk, pearl-white teeth bared into an obviously false smile.  _Obadiah_.  “Tony isn’t here at the moment, but I’ll be sure to let him know you called.” 

 

“Where is he?”  Stephen blurted out as the man reached for the “end call” button, already brushing him off. 

And there must have been something in his voice or his expression, because the man, Obadiah, stilled suddenly, cold blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.  He regarded Stephen silently for a long moment, hand absently smoothing his graying beard. 

 

“Stark Industries are conducting a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan,” he offered finally in a slightly bored, business-like tone, something unpleasantly dark flickering in his icy stare, making Stephen’s heart stutter in ever-mounting worry.  “Tony should be back at the end of the week.  I’m sure he’ll call you when he returns.”

 

The screen went black, and Stephen felt the bottom drop out of his world.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony’s convoy was ambushed on the way to the airport following his presentation to the troops, according to the news.  Tony was missing, presumed dead. 

Stephen’s dreams were filled with images of Tony, bloodied and half-conscious on a filthy cot; Tony, bound and beaten, swaying on his knees in front of a camera, guns pointed at his kneeling form;  Tony shivering with cold and fever, every hitched breath, every wet cough echoing with a sharp stabbing ferocity deep, too deep inside his ravaged chest.

Stephen began dreading going to sleep.

 

Three months later the internet exploded with news of Tony Stark’s miraculous rescue, and as Stephen watched the footage of Tony walking down the plane ramp – too pale, too thin, but alive, alive, _alive_ – he found that he could breathe again.

 

***

 

“It’s good to see you,” Tony murmured, smiling tiredly at the camera, and Stephen gripped the tablet harder, swallowing past a thick, uncomfortable lump that burned at his throat.

 

“Good to see you, too,” he echoed, not quite managing to keep his voice from shaking.

 

“Hey, no… don’t…”  Tony’s voice broke slightly, his expression crumpling.  “It’s okay.  I’m… I’m okay.”

 

Stephen huffed, incredulous.  Wiped surreptitiously at the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.  “I’d feel better if you were here.”

 

“I’ll come back,” Tony promised.  “Soon.  I just….”  His features darkened, a troubled crease cutting across his forehead.  “There are some things I need to take care of.”

 

“Be careful,” Stephen admonished him, his chest tightening in sudden, unexplained worry.  “There’s something about Obadiah, I….”

 

He trailed off as Tony froze abruptly, eyes growing wide in mute shock, and he just glimpsed the movement of someone else’s hand next to Tony’s ear before the tablet fell from Tony’s suddenly limp fingers, cluttering to the floor.

 

“Tony?” he cried, heart pounding with fear as he strained to hear something – _anything_ in response. 

 

There were footsteps, heavy and languidly measured, and then the tablet was picked up, Obadiah’s smirking face greeting him from the screen.

 

“Why, hello there, Stephen.”  The man’s smile widened – a sated predator, savoring its prey.  “Might as well enjoy the show.” 

 

And the screen shifted, the tablet propped up at an angle, giving Stephen a perfect view of Tony, slumped stiff and awkward against the back of the couch.  And Stephen screamed in helpless, anguished fury as Obadiah leaned over Tony’s unnaturally still, defenseless form, a clawed tool in his hand.  The tool clamped around the glowing circle in the center of Tony’s chest – the same one Stephen had seen in his dreams, the one he knew, instinctively, was keeping him alive – and Tony jolted with a soft gasp as Obadiah yanked the tool back toward him, a glowing orb secured within its metallic grasp.

 

Obadiah was speaking, purring with perverse satisfaction over the orb itself and what it meant and his role in Tony’s capture and demise.

 

Stephen tuned him out.  Stephen stared, breathless and unblinking and frozen just like Tony.  Stared into Tony’s eyes – wide and scared and filled with so, so much regret.  As if Tony was sorry that Stephen was having to witness this, having to watch Tony die _(no, no, no, not die, never die! Not Tony.  Please, no, never Tony!)_.

 

Obadiah straightened back up, momentarily obscuring Stephen’s view.  Thick fingers grasped the edge of the tablet, shoving it closer to Tony’s face.  “Say goodbye, boys,” came the mocking voice.

 

Tony’s eyelashes fluttered almost imperceptibly, his large expressive eyes dark with mute sorrow, a single tear sliding down his cheek.  And Stephen howled like a wounded animal, his heart pulsating with the agony of loss as the tablet was thrown violently against the wall, the screen on Stephen’s end going ominously, irrevocably dark.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony wasn’t dead, Stephen was sure of that.  He would know.  A mer whose One died always knew.  Felt the pain of that sudden, irreparable loss – a heart being violently ripped in two.  Few, if any, survived the viciousness of it.  And Stephen’s heart was still beating, albeit haltingly, in stuttering, scared confusion. 

 

Tony was alive.

 

But Stephen realized something as he watched his beloved get tortured so callously before his eyes – he couldn’t do this anymore.  He couldn’t stand by helplessly while Tony was in pain.  Not again.  Once was already too much to bear.  He needed to find a way to keep something like this from happening ever again. 

 

And there was only one creature he could think of that could help him with that.

 

***

 

“Back so soon, my young friend?” The witch smirked at him from over the rim of her cauldron before stooping back over the gooey concoction within it.  “Another favor?”

 

Stephen shook his head, licking his lips nervously.  Moved further into the cave.  “Teach me magic.”

 

The witch stopped stirring the bubbling smelly potion, stared at him silently, green eyes curious, calculating.  A moment later she burst out laughing, the sound echoing hollowly within the walls of the cave.

 

“You wish to learn my art, mer?  For the sake of your human?”

 

“As much as for my own,” he denied.  “There are too many would do harm to my One, and I do not wish to stand by and let us both suffer needlessly if I can have the ability to do something about it.  I need you to teach me.”

 

The witch’s gaze narrowed.  “You’re pretty bold coming here, demanding I teach you magic,” she drawled out, lips curling in a warning snarl.  Hissed, sliding up closer, “What makes you think I’d want to waste my time teaching you?  What makes you so sure I won’t simply snap my fingers and turn you into a worthless sponge to decorate one of my walls?”

 

Stephen swallowed tightly, holding her gaze.  “Like you said, I’m bold.”  He took a breath, forcing his fear-numbed lips into a smile of confidence.  “I am the only one who comes here, the only one who visits you with any sort of regularity.  Everyone else is either too scared or sees no need in your services. I dare say you’re lonely, and that you’d enjoy the company.”

 

The witch said nothing.  Closed her eyes, thin lips pulling into an oddly satisfied smirk.  And then, between one breath and the next, she was already before him, brilliantly green eyes uncomfortably, intimidatingly close.

 

“You wish to learn my magic, mer?” she hissed, hands wrapping vise-like around his wrists, black talons digging into the vulnerable skin over his pulse points hard enough to draw blood.  “You absolutely certain you can handle it?”

 

“I am,” he nodded.  Because he was and because there was really no backing out of this now.  And then gasped in pain and surprise as the witch jerked his hands toward her, pressing them forcefully against the sides of her head.

 

The snakes lunged at him, mouths open in hungry anticipation.  Dug their fangs voraciously into his forcibly open palms – hundreds of razor-sharp daggers piercing skin and muscle, scraping harshly against bone.

 

He screamed.

 

***

 

It was over an eternity later.  The witch let go, and he sagged backwards, cradling his torn, bleeding hands to his chest.

 

“Mers are not naturally receptive to magic,” the witch explained, watching with dispassionate detachment as he curled protectively over his hands, trembling with the shock of residual pain.  “Snake poison will modify the chemistry of your body.  Make it possible for you to use magic without relying on drinking potions like the rest of your kind.”

 

She reached out, grasping him by the chin, forcing his head up until his watery gaze met hers.  Smiled, all sharp teeth and knowing satisfaction. 

 

“Give the poison the rest of the day to work its way through your system and come back tomorrow for your lessons.”

 

She leaned in closer, her breath hot on his cheek, and he forced himself to stay still, to stare back at her unflinching. 

 

“Unless, of course, you changed your mind, little mer.”

 

She released him then, her talons scraping painfully down his chin, and he raised his head in defiance, forced his badly shaking hands to fall down at his sides.

 

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he promised, voice hoarse with pain but unwavering.

 

And he did.


	11. Chapter 11

Sand shifted under his feet as he made his way down to the water.  It wasn’t their usual meeting place, the house and the adjacent pier having been purchased by another family years ago ( _for the best_ , Tony thought bitterly – _too many memories in that old house, not all of them good ones_ ), but he had messaged Stephen about the new location, so, hopefully, he’d…

 

“Tony,” the call of his name, soft and familiar, carried toward him across the dusk-darkened waters, and he lurched toward it instinctively, his heart stuttering in joyful anticipation. 

 

He tried his best not to look down to where the tongues of near-black water lapped at the sand, closing all too eagerly around his bare feet.  Tried to ignore the coldness of the water that soaked his pants and seeped into his very bones as he moved further away from shore.  Tried his best to focus instead on Stephen’s head bobbing above the waves a little over 20 yards away, on the easy smile he could imagine on the twilight veiled face, on the warm crinkle in the beloved blue eyes.

 

But his breath hitched in growing panic as a slightly larger wave crashed into his mid-section on its way to shore, spraying a fine cold mist into his face.  And his body rocked backwards instinctively in an attempt to get away from the all-too-familiar, all-too-uncomfortable sensation.

 

The move cost him.

 

He wobbled unsteadily, already pushed slightly off balance by the wave.  The sand shifted traitorously under his feet, denying him purchase.  And then he was falling, windmilling backwards with a desperate, strangled gasp, straight into the cold black abyss of his nightmares.

 

He was gone the moment the dark waters closed over his head, his mind no longer there, trapped in an endless vicious cycle of memories: _cold and darkness and pain; angry faces, jeering voices; hands – rough, brutal, merciless; hands pushing him down, down, down… his knees hitting the ground hard… pain, pain, pain…; hands forcing his head under water… breath rasping in his throat – not enough, not enough, not enough; water rushing in, filling his mouth, filling his nose, filling his lungs… burning, burning, burning… and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t…_   

 

Arms gripped him suddenly – a steel vise on his shoulders, and he lashed out without thought, thrashing and writhing like a wild animal caught in a hunter’s trap, blind panic taking over his entire being even as he fought to break free of their grasp, to keep his head above water, to breathe, breathe, _breathe_. He couldn’t do this anymore, not again, _please, please, no more, no more!_

The arms didn’t let go, wrapped around him tighter instead despite his increasingly frantic struggles.  And, suddenly, the water was gone, and there was dry sand underneath him, still palpably warm in the rapidly cooling evening air.  And those arms were wrapped around him still, cradling him with none of the violence he was expecting, cocooning his wildly shivering form within the intuitively familiar safety of someone’s chest.  And there was a low steady hum above his ear, a gentle, never-ending murmur that slowly, laboriously broke through the horror-tinged haze, shaping into more or less clear, recognizable words, “You’re alright, Tony, you’re safe, I promise.  I got you.  Breathe, baby, just breathe, you’re alright.  Just breathe.”

 

He did his best to comply.  Struggled to steady his painful, gasping breaths against the scorching fire that was raging inside his chest, to sync them to the slow rhythm of a hand currently rubbing soothing circles into the back of his head.  Until, eventually, the oppressive blackness of memories began to retreat, crawling back into the far recesses of his subconscious.  Until the adrenaline seeped out of him, and he sagged, drained and boneless, into that safe, solid embrace, rolling his head back to stare up into the warm, worry-creased eyes.

 

“Stephen,” the name fell from his lips in a breathless whisper, reverent like a prayer.  And his eyes closed in grateful, blessed relief as Stephen bent his head toward him, his lips leaving a gentle benediction of a kiss on Tony’s wet brow.  For a few still, blissful moments he allowed himself to simply lie there on the soft dry sand, relishing in the feel of Stephen’s arms around his still trembling body, letting the last of the horrors ebb away, forced out by the steady, reassuring beat of his lover’s heart.

 

And then his mind caught up to him, and his eyes flew open with a shock of realization.  Because they were on land, _dry_ land, and Stephen… Stephen was right there beside him, long naked legs splayed out, bracketing Tony on both sides.

 

Tony gaped at them stupidly, an unsteady hand reaching out to run hesitant fingers along the wet skin.  “H-how…?” he rasped out finally, his mind whirring at this new information, struggling and failing to comprehend.

 

“Magic,” came the softly murmured response, and he snapped his gaze back to Stephen’s face, searching it for any trace of humor.  But the smile that met him held no trace of mockery; was tinged with sadness and compassion instead.   “This wasn’t how I planned to tell you about it, but then you, you know…”

 

“Freaked out,” Tony finished helpfully, his words punctuated by Stephen’s miserable nod. 

 

“I’m still only… I’m only learning,” Stephen added, sounding apologetic for some reason.  “I won’t be able to hold this form for long.  I just… I wanted to get you away from the water, and that’s all I could think to do.”

 

_Away from the water.  Right._

Tony dropped his gaze, his cheeks growing hot with shame.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, because Stephen deserved an apology from him, at the very least.  Just as much as he deserved what he knew Stephen’s reaction was going to be to his next words.  He’d tried.  He’d failed, but at least he’d tried.  “I can’t be in the water.  What you just saw, I… it triggers these memories for me and I can’t… I thought I could handle it, I… I _tried_ to handle it, but I can’t.  I’m sorry.”

 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the insistent sting of tears.  Waited in that self-imposed darkness for the inevitable rejection, bracing himself for it.  For Stephen’s arms to fall from his shoulders.  For Stephen to move away.  Because, magic or not, there was no way that Stephen would want to stay with him now.  Not when he was broken like this.  Not when he couldn’t even meet Stephen in his own element.

 

He felt Stephen shift slightly beside him.  Felt a light brush of fingertips across his cheek, along with the overwhelming, aching need to lean into that feather-soft touch, to savor the contact for one last time…

 

“Tony.”  Strong, insistent fingers grasped his jaw, gently forcing his head up.  “Look at me, Tony, please.”

 

He complied, forced himself to meet Stephen’s gaze once again, blinking traitorous tears out of his eyes.  He expected to see disappointment in the pale blue eyes, resignation, annoyance even.  Not pain – familiar, mutual, shared.  Not tears.  Not… _love_ – a fervent, burning flame of it that shone bright and unmistakable in the dusk-shadowed blues.

 

“I had dreams about you before you disappeared.  Premonitions, the Witch called them.  I… I saw what those people did to you.  I…”

 

Stephen’s lips tightened, his face crumpling in anguish.  His hand fell from Tony’s jaw, coming to rest over the small circle of blue light hidden beneath Tony’s shirt.  The gesture should have made Tony nervous, so soon after Obadiah.  But it was Stephen, and it was okay.

 

“That was why I went to the Witch,” Stephen explained, his expression penitent, his voice nonexistent almost.  “I couldn’t stand seeing you in so much pain.  I felt so helpless.  I wanted… _needed_ to find a way to protect you.”

 

Tony’s throat clicked dryly as he tried to swallow past the sudden tightness there.  “I can’t go in the water, Stephen,” he tried again, voice cracking like dead branches underfoot.  “Do you understand? I can’t...”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Stephen cut him off, resolute.  Waved his arm around him to emphasize his point, “None of this matters. I’d give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant I couldn’t be with you.  Do _you_ … understand?”

 

Tony didn’t reply.  Couldn’t, for all the tears that built up in his throat.  Nodded mutely instead, dropping his gaze down to the hand that lay across his arc reactor.  Frowned worriedly at the thin lines of scars that criss-crossed the previously smooth skin there – the Witch’s payment, of that he had no doubt.  And the idea that Stephen willingly endured what must have been unimaginable pain on his behalf twisted his already aching heart, made it stutter with remorse and a feeling of love so intense he felt as if his chest would burst from it.

 

“I can’t believe you went to the Witch for me,” he managed to croak out finally, raising his hand to gently trace his fingertips along the worst of the damage.  “I can’t believe you let her… what did she even do to you?”

 

Stephen smiled, wrapping his fingers around Tony’s and bringing their intertwined hands up to his lips to place a quick kiss on Tony’s knuckles.  “She gave me knowledge,” he answered simply.  “And I was able to use it to help my One.  It was a small price to pay.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Is it true what they say about mers whose loved ones pass away?”

 

He was lying in bed next to Tony, half-sprawled over his lover’s beautifully naked form, the warmth of Tony’s embrace and the lazy circles Tony’s fingers traced up and down his arm making him drowsy, his body melting bonelessly into his beloved’s gentle hold.

Tony’s strange non-sequitur startled him, broke through the sweet, syrupy veil of encroaching sleep, and Stephen shifted slightly, raising his head from where it was resting on Tony’s chest.  Squinted blearily up into his lover’s oddly shuttered face.

 

“What brought this on?”

 

Tony shrugged, his fingers never interrupting their lazy rhythm.  “Just wondering,” he murmured, his voice affectedly nonchalant.  “I was looking up things about the mers, but it’s mostly myths, you know, nothing really … concrete.  So I was…”

 

“Wondering, yes,” Stephen finished for him, his brow furrowing in thought as he scrutinized Tony’s features.  Something felt off about him, something oddly unsettling that sparked a tiny niggle of worry deep in his gut.  “I don’t know what it is you’ve read,” he hedged finally as Tony continued to watch him in the ensuing silence, his gaze carefully, carefully neutral.  “I can tell you it isn’t pretty.  Losing your One is… it’s not pleasant.  Painful,” he added reluctantly, his mind recoiling at the mere notion.  _“Deadly,”_ he couldn’t make himself say.

 

Tony’s features darkened, an odd expression flickering in his eyes before he looked away to gaze at the night-washed sky outside his bedroom window.  “Painful,” he echoed, his voice inexplicably hollow, his arms tightening around Stephen’s form, and that small tingle of worry in Stephen’s gut intensified, morphing into something darker, too – a sense of foreboding he wasn’t quite ready to address.

 

“Look…”  He shifted again, moving up on the bed to be level with Tony.  Reached out to run the back of his fingers over Tony’s cheek, smiling softly when the other closed his eyes contentedly, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.  “I’m perfectly aware that humans don’t live as long as the mers, and that’s okay.  It doesn’t change anything.”

 

Tony went to shake his head, his brow furrowing in disagreement, and Stephen uncurled his fingers, pressed the palm of his hand firmly against his beloved’s cheek, preventing the movement.

 

“It really doesn’t,” he insisted, putting all of his conviction into the words.  Because Tony needed to hear him, needed to understand.  Because Tony needn’t be burdened by the knowledge of what his death would do to Stephen.  Because it was no more Tony’s fault that Stephen fell in love with him than it was the sun’s fault for the world needing its warmth to exist. 

 

“I’m not afraid, Tony,” he assured him, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on Tony’s lips.  Lingered in the moment, reluctant to pull away.  “I want this,” he murmured against Tony’s mouth, “I _want_ this.  For however many long years we have ahead of us.  Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Tony echoed, but the smile he gave Stephen looked brittle at the edges, and Stephen glimpsed a troubling shadow in the hastily averted gaze.

 

He didn’t press Tony further.  His control over his powers was still not as effective as he would have liked, and the spell allowing him to remain in a human form was due to expire in an hour or so.  He would have to leave soon, and he didn’t want to waste any more of their time arguing.  He would have plenty of time to prove to Tony that his fears and his guilt were unfounded; that he was worth every allotted moment, every granted breath. He’d spend however many years they had together proving it to him, one minute at a time.  For now, however, he wanted to spend what little time was left of his spell basking in the living warmth that was Tony.  So he wrapped his arms gently around his beloved’s form, tucking Tony’s face into the crook of his neck.  Pressed his cheek into the soft unruly curls and just… held him.

 

***

 

The witch began training him on the ways of accessing dimensions other than their own, and all of Stephen’s days became consumed with learning about things his mind could hardly reconcile as real.  He longed for a break in the lessons, ached with the need to see Tony, but he didn’t dare show his impatience to the Witch lest the powerful creature questioned his dedication to the craft.

 

Still, he could not quite disguise the excitement he felt when the witch told him with a knowing smirk that he would be able to take a short respite from his studies in a few days’ time.  It was with those exciting news that he returned home, eager to share them with Tony.

 

He picked up the tablet, intent on making the call, when a pop-up window caught his attention – a news headline mentioning Tony’s name.  He clicked on the link provided, frowning in consternation at the words “drunk” and “out of control” that accompanied the mention.  And froze, staring uncomprehending at a shaky video of an obviously intoxicated Tony stumbling around a crowded room in his red and gold suit of armor, firing indiscriminately at the walls of his own house. 

 

This was so unlike Tony, so unlike anything Stephen had ever witnessed.  This was…

 

He was opening a portal to Tony’s workshop before he even knew what he was doing.

 

***

 

He spotted Tony almost instantly, sitting at the workshop table with his back to Stephen.  He seemed tired, his back hunched, elbows planted heavily on the table top.  He appeared oblivious to Stephen’s arrival, his attention consumed by computer screens before him that flashed a rapid succession of images and numbers.

Stephen called his name softly and, garnering no reaction, stepped closer, placing his hand on Tony’s shoulder to alert him to his presence.  And almost pulled his hand back as Tony started with a jolt, nearly falling off his chair at the sudden movement.

 

And then Tony looked up at him, and the confused apprehension that tugged at Stephen’s insides when he saw the video solidified into a leaden ball of worry that settled heavily deep in his gut.  Because Tony looked… he looked ill: the sunken cheeks, the ashen skin underscored by thick black smudges under both eyes, the hollow, dead look in the normally sparkling warm browns. 

 

“Tony,” he exhaled, his hand tightening involuntarily on his beloved’s shoulder as he tilted his head to examine an odd meshwork of thin, criss-crossing lines that ran down the side of Tony’s neck, disappearing under his shirt collar.  “What… what is this, what’s wrong?”

 

Tony shook his head, his expression crumpling, his eyes inexplicably, worryingly filling with tears.  Pulled feebly away from Stephen’s touch.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, wincing as if in pain, his right hand rising shakily to rub at his chest.  “I’m so sorry.  I tried to find a solution… I’ve been trying all this time, but…” 

 

He dropped his gaze, letting out a small, shuddering breath.  Planted his hand on the table, pushing himself shakily up to stand. 

 

And Stephen had but half a heartbeat to react as Tony’s legs buckled without warning and he collapsed limp and suddenly, worriedly unresponsive into Stephen’s arms.


	13. Chapter 13

Consciousness returned slowly, sensations creeping back into his awareness: a hard rocky surface underneath him, a terrifyingly familiar musty dampness and cold surrounding him, seeping into his very bones…. 

 

_No!_

His eyes flew open in growing panic, needing the reassurance of reality, needing to know that it was nothing but his own imagination playing tricks on him.

 

And froze, staring in disbelieving horror at the blackened ceiling of a cave, hanging low enough above him that he could see every groove that wind or perhaps water carved into the ages-old stone. 

 

“No….”  The word spilled forth from his lips this time – a quiet, desperate whine of a plea.

 

He scrambled to sit up, his lungs aching as his breathing stuttered to a halting, nervous rhythm of thin, rapid gasps.

 

“You’re in my home, human.  You’re safe,” came a sharp and somehow offended voice from his right, and Tony whirled in its direction, nearly toppling off the rocky platform he’d apparently been lying on.

 

An alabaster white hand shot out toward him, catching his shoulder in a viselike grip, anchoring him roughly in place. Before he could so much as squeak, another hand pressed palm-flat against his forehead, slender black-taloned fingers pressing none too gently against his temples.  And suddenly the thick, swirling fog of panic cleared, and he could breathe again.

 

The hands released him then, and he sat back, unmoving, squinting apprehensively at their owner – a tall green-eyed creature with a hissing tangle of snakes for hair that moved about her head in an oddly mesmerizing rhythm.

 

“Stephen warned me that you would react poorly to being under water,” the creature remarked with obvious displeasure, waving her hand about the visibly water-free space.  “So I, as a gracious host, was obliged to turn my beautiful home into something more amenable to you, human.  I even had to adopt these… these foul things you, land dwellers, use to move around.” She stabbed a taloned finger contemptuously at her bare feet.  Then narrowed her gaze at him, taking a small and somehow threatening step closer.  “He never once mentioned anything about you being afraid of caves.”

 

Tony shifted uncomfortably under her glare, fighting the urge to raise his hand to his chest. “You’re the witch,” he guessed, choosing to ignore her unspoken question.

 

She raised an eyebrow at him, mocking.  “So you heard about me, human.  I’m flattered.”

 

“I have,” he nodded, a muscle in his jaw twitching angrily.  Then accused, “You scarred his hands.”

 

The green eyes flashed in challenge, all trace of humor gone.  “And _you_ are breaking his heart.”

 

He flinched at the brutal riposte, guilt – his ever-present companion in recent weeks – echoing sharply in his weakened heart. “Does he know?” he whispered, already knowing the answer but seeking out the torment of it nonetheless.

 

“That you’re dying?”

 

He flinched again, closing his eyes against the harsh judgment in the eerily iridescent greens.  Nodded – a miserable, apologetic ‘yes’.

 

“He knows,” the witch confirmed, her tone biting.  “Although he foolishly refuses to accept it.  He’s pouring over the books in my library now, trying to find a cure.”

 

Tony shook his head, gave her a bitter, resigned half-smile.  “He won’t find one.”

 

She hummed pensively at that and it seemed to him that something in her gaze softened, if briefly.  “No,” she acknowledged gravely, “I don’t suppose he will.”

 

He considered her silently for a moment, an idea born weeks ago out of sheer desperation niggling once again at the back of his mind.   Here was his chance to act on it, and with Stephen being out of earshot this was as good a time as any.  All he had to do was ask.

 

“I need a favor,” he blurted out before the more rational, self-preservational part of his brain had a chance to object. 

 

The witch raised an eyebrow at that, her expression morphing into one of annoyed incredulity.  “You two make quite a pair,” she mused, crossing her arms on her chest even as the snakes around her head wriggled in displeasure.  “Now what kind of a favor could you possibly need from me, human?”  The green eyes flashed warningly.  “And what makes you think I’ll do anything for you?”

 

He slid off the platform, took a couple unsteady steps toward her, coming to stand less than an arm’s length away.  Squared his shoulders, refusing to appear intimidated.  “I need you to break the connection between us, to… to make him forget me,” he forced out on a heavy, panted exhale, the words catching painfully in his throat.  Waited, shoulders tense and heart heavy, for her response.

 

But none came.  The witch studied him in silence, her gaze narrowed searchingly on Tony’s face, and Tony could read surprise there mixed with distrust.  He stared back at her calmly, forcing himself to relax under her scrutiny even as she stepped closer, close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin.  Forced himself to stay still even as he heard a hiss above his ear as one of the snakes slid forward; struggled not to flinch as he felt a forked tongue tickle his cheek.  He had nothing to hide.

 

“You want me to sever the link between you,” she repeated slowly as if trying to ascertain that what she heard was true. 

 

He nodded mutely, his gaze trained on the wall behind her, unseeing.

 

“His memory of you will be erased.  He will forget you ever existed.  The one person who loves you unconditionally will not have a fleeting thought about you.  Won’t even mourn your passing,” she pressed on, every word slicing dagger-like through his heart.  “ _This_ is what you want?”

 

He swallowed hard past the impossible tightening of his throat, raised his eyes to the ceiling, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. “I know what I’m asking,” he rasped out, her callous prodding scraping painfully against the open wound that was his heart, making him testy. Leveled as angry a glare at her as he could manage, ignoring the watery veil that got in the way.  “Do you have the power to do it or not?”

 

The witch cocked her head at him, thin lips twitching in a pale semblance of a smirk.  “Oh I have the power,” she promised with uncontrived confidence.  “I’m just not so sure that your mer would want the same as you.  He might be a bit…,” she clicked her tongue, waving a hand in the air as if searching for the right word, “…upset.”

 

He shrugged, resigned.  “He’ll be alive, that’s all that matters,” he countered, feeling the tears escape despite his efforts.  Reached up to swipe awkwardly at his cheeks.  “And if it works he won’t have anything to be upset over,” he added, a crooked wobbly smile tugging at his lips.  “Will he?”

 

Something oddly sympathetic flickered in the witch’s gaze, and she opened her mouth to respond, when a voice trembling with barely contained anger broke in on their conversation, and Tony felt his heart plummet in despair.

 

“I think I should at least be afforded the courtesy of a choice!”


	14. Chapter 14

“Why?” Stephen was standing before him now, hands clutching at Tony’s shoulders, clinging to him as to a lifeline.  “Why would you do that?” And the anguished break in his voice was almost too much for Tony to bear.

 

“You know why,” he exhaled, feeling suddenly so, so very tired.  They have been arguing for so long now – an eternity, it seemed to his exhausted mind, and he just… he just wanted it to stop.  “You know–”

 

“You think I’d want to forget you?” Stephen interrupted, his grip becoming just shy of painful.  “You think I’d want to forget this?”

 

And Tony moaned despite himself as Stephen’s lips closed over his, hungry, desperate.  Melted will-lessly into the kiss, his weakened, poison-ravaged body yearning for the brilliant warmth of Stephen’s affection, drawn to it like a moth to a flame _._  

 

“How… how can you expect me to want to lose any of this?” Stephen pulled away abruptly, watching him with broken eyes, and it was all Tony could do to keep his rubbery legs under him, to keep himself from sagging feebly in his lover’s hold.

 

Tony closed his eyes briefly, giving himself a moment to regain his bearings, a moment to pull together the strength to say what he needed.  Sighed deeply, reaching up to gently cup the mer’s tear-stained cheek, his lips twitching wistfully when the other leaned slightly into his touch. “I cannot be the reason you suffer, Stephen.  I am a curse, I taint everything I touch.  I… I was never meant to be happy.  What I had with you… those years… they were a gift I never deserved.  And you… you have already gone through too much because of me, because of my f-fucked up life.  I…” He choked out a breath, harsh and watery like a sob, curled his free hand into a fist to keep it from shaking.  “You don’t deserve this.  It isn’t worth your pain or….” He swallowed harshly, his voice faltering under the stormy gaze of tear-filled blues, “or your death. **_I_** … am not worth it.”  He shook his head, pressing a finger against Stephen’s lips when the mer moved to object.  “No.  No, Stephen. I cannot have your death on my conscience.  I… I won’t.”

 

“You can’t be making this decision for me, Tony.  You–” Stephen’s face twisted as if in pain, his breathing ragged, hands digging into Tony’s shoulders hard enough to make him flinch.  “This isn’t your choice to make!”

 

He nodded jerkily, looking away again.  Forced out as steady as he could with tears swelling in his throat, “I’m sorry, Stephen. There is no other way.”

 

“No.”  Stephen shook him, none too gently.  “No!”

 

“Enough!” the witch growled out suddenly, bringing them both up short.  “Enough,” she repeated, stepping closer, her lips twisted with displeasure.  “If I have to hear any more of this,” she waved her hand between them with an air of disdainful disapproval, “I am going to be sick.”

 

“Look,” Tony bristled, getting over the initial shock of her unexpected intrusion and twisting in Stephen’s arms to face the witch head on, “this isn’t helping, alright? I asked you for a favor, and if you cared even a little bit about him, you’d–”

 

“Be quiet, human.” The green eyes flashed in clear warning, the snakes rearing their heads with a loud uniform hiss. 

 

He clenched his mouth shut then, staring at her defiantly, and she shook her head, the snakes settling down as she stepped closer still. 

 

“There may be another solution to this,” she mused, and Tony had to fight the urge to recoil as she reached out to scrape her black talons along the edges of the faintly flickering circle of light in his chest.  She smirked, noting his discomfort, flicked her fingers at the smooth glass, making him flinch.  “Don’t worry, human.  If I wanted to break your little device here, I had plenty of opportunity to do so while you were lying on that bed out cold.”  


He stiffened, the simple truth of her words filling his chest with cold, his mind flashing back to Obadiah’s gleeful, predatory smile as the man hovered over him, the arc reactor clutched triumphantly in his hand. 

 

“You’re safe, Tony.” Stephen’s arms tightened around him in a protective hold, lips pressing softly into the skin above his temple, pulling him back into the present.  “You’re safe.  She never… she helped you.”

 

He frowned at that, flicking his gaze between the two of them.  “Helped how?”

 

“Your device was dead when Stephen brought you in,” the witch replied with a careless shrug.  “The element that powers it was burned out.  I…”  She raised her hand, palm up, and Tony’s eyes widened at the sight of a faint emerald glow that sparked between her fingers.  “…gave it a bit of a boost.  A temporary fix, to be sure.  But should hold long enough.”

 

“Long enough for what?”

 

But the witch was no longer looking at him, her focus wholly and solely on Stephen.  “There’s an ancient being that rules one of the dimensions I taught you about.  Dormammu’s his name.  He’s as powerful as he is old.  And just as evil.  But he possesses an amulet that encases a gem born out of the depths of the cosmos before time was time.  The power of that gem might just be enough to keep your human alive.”

 

“A new element,” Tony murmured, glancing subconsciously down at his reactor.  He had been trying to find a suitable replacement for palladium ever since he realized what effect it was having on his body, but none of the tests he ran ever yielded a positive result.  Of course, he only ever dealt with known elements on Earth.

 

The witch hummed, deigning him with a look of confirmation.  “Nothing that exists here on Earth is powerful enough to fuel this device without also killing you in the process.  This gem, however….”  She trailed off, watching the two of them expectantly.

 

“Tell me where to go.” Stephen released Tony abruptly, taking a step toward her, readiness to act bleeding from his very posture.

 

Tony grabbed him by the arm, pulled him back, ignoring the mer’s protest.  “What’s the catch?” he inquired tensely, his eyes never leaving the witch’s face.  Because things were never that easy.  Because she would have mentioned this sooner if they were.

 

The witch’s face split into a smile, wide and just this side of predatory.  “The catch, human, is that Dormammu won’t appreciate anyone intruding upon his realm, not to mention wanting to take something from him.  And beings as old and as powerful as him, they tend to destroy things they don’t appreciate.  _Painfully_.”

 

Tony took a step back, tugging Stephen along.  “No,” he said firmly, his fingers digging into Stephen’s bicep lest the other pull away.  “Nuh-uh, not happening.”

 

“Tony…”

 

“No.”  He pushed Stephen behind him, placing himself between him and the witch, as if that would somehow protect the mer from the sheer madness of the witch’s proposed solution.  Twisted around, grasping Stephen’s shirt with both hands.  “Think about it – you get killed out there, I still die, and it’s all for nothing.  There’s no–”

 

“He doesn’t have to,” the witch spoke up calmly behind him, and he whirled back to face her just in time to see her expression shift into something more enigmatic.  “Get killed, that is.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

She held up her hand again, her fingers uncurling to reveal a golden oval-shaped pendant with a brightly glowing malachite-green jewel at its center. “This,” she said, holding the pendant out to Tony, who took it with quite a bit of trepidation, “will keep him tethered to our reality, to you.  And he will return whole, no matter what is done to him.”  She paused, watching him as he examined the pendant.  Added with a kind of quiet, intense urgency, “ ** _If_** and _only_ if you don’t let go of that amulet I gave you.”

 

Tony looked up at that, narrowing his gaze at the carefully shuttered expression on the witch’s face.  “It won’t be pleasant for me, will it,” he guessed, feeling Stephen’s hand grasp his free one, squeezing it in silent support.

 

She didn’t deny it.  “You will feel everything that he goes through, perhaps more so.  And with your condition,” she nodded at the arc reactor, “you may not survive the experience. But there’s a chance you will, and the way I see it, you don’t have much to lose.”

 

Tony nodded, his forehead creasing in thought as he looked back down at the innocuous looking jewel in his palm.  Felt Stephen shift beside him, the mer’s arms encircling him, warm, loving, safe. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me,” he murmured, letting Stephen turn him around, pull him into the familiar cocoon of his embrace.  “I… if I die anyway, it’s–”

 

“It’s a chance, Tony,” Stephen argued above him, a fervent, solemn plea in his voice.  “It’s more than we could hope for even a few minutes ago.  We have to take it.  _I_ have to take it.  Please.”

 

He closed his eyes, letting his forehead thump gently against Stephen’s chest.  The ever-present exhaustion was weighing him down more and more with each passing second, and the increasingly uneven, stuttering beat of his heart warned him that whatever magic the witch had performed on him to keep his reactor from shutting down completely was starting to wear off.  There was little time left to lose.

 

“Okay,” he breathed, his fingers closing tight around the pendant. Pulled back a bit, the fingers of his free hand fisting the fabric of Stephen’s shirt.  “You just… just promise me that you’ll stay alive.”

 

Stephen smiled at him, leaning in to press a desperately gentle kiss against Tony’s lips.  “I will,” he vowed, “as long as you promise me the same.”

 

He huffed wetly at that, his heart clenching in foreboding.     _“I love you,”_ he thought, ghosting his fingers down Stephen’s cheek, trying to commit this moment to memory – the soft look in Stephen’s eyes, the warmth of Stephen’s skin underneath his fingertips.  Unable to shake the feeling that this was it for them, a goodbye.  _“I love you so much.”_  

 

“I’ll do my best,” he said out loud, mustering as good of a smile as he could manage for Stephen’s sake. 

 

And the look of timid hope that brightened Stephen’s eyes in response to his empty promise was worth it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, the POV in this chapter switches between Stephen and Tony, so mind the chapter breaks :)

 

The darkness the Witch had sent him into splintered, exploded suddenly into a disorienting cacophony of flashing, whirling lights.  He staggered under the intensity of them, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding flares.  And froze as a deafening roar filled his ears.

 

The space before him buckled, twisted and warped, rippling into a giant horned head with glowing purple eyes that burned with murderous fury.  The black gaping void of a mouth opened, the booming voice rumbling forth, sending shockwaves through the air around him.

 

“How dare you intrude upon my rest!” it growled, a wave of hot foul breath slamming into Stephen, nearly knocking him down.  “Leave at once!”

 

“No,” he shook his head, curling his trembling hands into fists at his sides.  “I’ve come to ask you for your amulet, Dormammu, and I won’t leave until I get it.”

 

The head warped and rippled, purple eyes blazing with indignation.  “The only thing you’ll get from me is your death!” 

 

The words have not yet finished ringing through the air as three long spikes rose up sharply from the ground underneath Stephen’s feet, tearing through his body, spearing him cruelly in place – a swift and brutal retribution for his reckless audacity.

 

***

 

The first wave of pain took him by surprise – a series of vicious, breath-robbing stabs that seemed to go straight through the center of his arc reactor, folding him in half and dropping him to his knees.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, and he knelt there in wide-eyed misery, his free hand pressed firmly against his chest as he tried unsuccessfully to suck in a long, steady breath.  He felt a tingle in his other hand, and he glanced down at the amulet, frowning in apprehension as he watched the green light emitted by the jewel at its center flicker once and then again, even as the jewel itself grew suddenly, uncomfortably hot.  Then, just as abruptly, the heat dissipated, and the light returned to its steady rich glow.

 

“What…,” he gasped out, looking up at the Witch, “what happened? What does this mean?”

 

She met his searching gaze calmly, a shrug of almost callous indifference tugging at her shoulders.  “He was killed,” she supplied, adding before Tony’s horror-stunned mind could even formulate a response, “And then he was revived.  Just as I knew he would be.”  She nodded at the amulet in Tony’s hand, “He’s safe as long as you keep this on you.” 

 

He blinked, absently rubbing his still aching chest.  “Safe? You call this safe?” 

 

The Witch shrugged again.  “He’ll be revived every time.”

 

“And how many times is that gonna be, huh?” he challenged, suddenly angry.  “How many times is he going to have to _die_ for him to–”

 

“Until Dormammu grows weary of repetition and gives him what he asked for.”  The Witch’s gaze narrowed, unsympathetic.  “It’s the only way for him to save you, human.  All _you_ have to do is keep your fist closed.”

 

He reared back, bristling at her insinuation.  Gripped the amulet harder, opening his mouth to snap back a snarky retort.  But just then another wave of pain hit, ripping through his body, tearing it apart piece by piece, and whatever he was about to say became lost in a hoarse moan of a scream.

 

***

 

It surprised him each time when he reappeared on Dormammu’s plane alive and whole, every grotesque agonizing death – nothing but a vivid memory.  It comforted him, too.  Because it meant that Tony was still there, still holding on.  It gave him hope.

 

“It’s of no use,” he rasped, his legs shaky as he stood tall once more to Dormammu’s outraged roar.  “I’m stuck here with you until you give me what I want.”

 

“Leave. Me. ALONE!!!” 

 

The earth around him shook and shuddered, his clothes whipped about violently by the gale-like gust of a breath.  “No,” he refused the moment he could pull air back into his lungs.  “Not until you give me what I want.”

 

“How long do you think you can keep this up?” the creature taunted, towering over Stephen’s form.  “How much more pain can you endure?”

 

He smiled at that – a crooked, sad little thing that pulled at the corners of his lips, more a grimace than anything else.  “Pain’s an old friend,” he murmured, defiant, and squared his shoulders in preparation for more.

 

***

 

He must have passed out at one point, because he suddenly found himself flat on his back on the cold cave floor with no memory of how he got there.  There was something cold clasped around his right hand, an odd pressure pushing down on his fingers, forcing them to curl inward around some hard oval shape that was cutting into the flesh of his palm.

 

He shifted, turning his head toward it, and barely restrained a yelp of distress upon seeing the Witch crouched there next to his outstretched arm, mere inches away.

 

“What?” he blurted out, foregoing all thought of eloquence as he struggled to bring his heart back to a less panicked rhythm.

 

“You fainted,” the Witch explained dryly, her expression one of open accusation.  “You dropped the amulet.”

 

His heart jolted in panic – a painful jab against his ribs. 

 

“Stephen?”

 

He fought to twist his arm out of the Witch’s grasp, to look at the amulet.  He needed to see it, needed to know if he had failed, if Stephen was…

 

“You got lucky.”  The Witch released his hand, and he yanked it toward him, turning it shakily palm up to see for himself.  “The amulet fell close enough to you that I was able to use your own hand to reach it.”

At his confused glance she clarified, “The spell relies on the connection between the two of you.  If anyone else, including me, picks up the amulet, that connection _will_ be severed.”

 

He nodded numbly, digesting her words.  Pulled himself laboriously into a sitting position. 

 

“So he’s okay?”  The jewel glowed a steady, reassuring green in the cup of his hand, still he wanted, _needed_ to be sure.

 

“He’s okay,” the Witch confirmed.  “You did not have it away from you for long.  Like I said…”

 

“…lucky,” he finished for her, his voice dull with a sobering realization.  He was getting weaker, and he knew it.  His body, already severely taxed by the poison leaking from the reactor’s palladium core, was slowly but surely giving up.  He didn’t know how much longer he could endure before it failed him altogether.  And then he wouldn’t be able to hold on to the amulet, and Stephen would…

 

“You won’t last much longer,” the Witch observed – a ruthless echo of his own thoughts.  “And you may not get so lucky next time.”

 

He nodded again, his brain churning as he desperately tried to think of something, _anything_ to fix this.  His gaze landed on the rumpled, oil-stained sleeve of his Henley, and suddenly the solution appeared before him as clear as day, simple, so ridiculously simple – it almost made him laugh out loud.  Almost.

 

He reached up toward the open vee of his shirt’s placket, gripped both sides as well as he could without relinquishing his hold on the amulet, and yanked.  Hard.  The fabric crackled as it ripped, the material having been rent violently in two, and he shrugged quickly out of the left sleeve, letting the ripped remains of his shirt slide down his right arm to pool at his fisted hand. 

 

“H-help me,” he stammered out, struggling to wrap the material around his right fist one-handed, his muscles trembling from weakness and the cold air of the cave that nipped against his now bare skin.  “I need you to… t-tie it.  ‘s tight as you c-can.”

 

The Witch eyed him intently, something odd flickering in her expression.  Then, wordlessly, she shifted closer, took the greased fabric from his shaking fingers.  “This is the second time you’ve surprised me, human,” she admitted as she began wrapping the fabric tightly around his closed hand, something close to admiration in her quietly contemplative voice.  “I did not think it possible.”

 

He shrugged, wincing when she tied off the ends a little too roughly.  “Thanks…. I guess.” 

 

And then he didn’t say anything more.  Because that was when another wave of pain hit.  And then another.  And then another. 

 

He swayed in place, gasping harshly as an invisible blade sliced through him again and again and again.  Careened to the side, collapsing feebly back onto the floor, his cheek pressing hard into the cold, unforgiving stone. 

 

More pain ripped through him, spiking outwards from his arc reactor, and he gurgled breathlessly as something hot and viscous poured up his throat, spilling into his mouth, dribbling past his cracked lips.  His chest twitched weakly in a useless attempt to draw air into his starving lungs, his vision graying from lack of oxygen and constant, unbearable pain.  But even as his eyelids fluttered to a close, their descent slow and inevitable, echoing the faint halting beat of his dying heart, he smiled.  Because he could still see the blurry outlines of his wrapped hand lying on the floor in front of him.  Could still feel the pressure of the amulet against the inside of his palm and the occasional searing heat that spoke of Stephen’s continuous revival.  Because Stephen would be okay….  


	16. Chapter 16

He reappeared inside the Witch’s lair, dizzy from the abrupt shift between the two dimensions and giddy with his unexpected success.  The invaluable, hard-won amulet clutched protectively in his fisted hand, he blinked myopically as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the perpetual dimness of the cave’s interior.

And felt his triumphant mood abandon him in a rush as he was finally able to make out the scene before him.

 

“No…”

 

He stumbled forward on suddenly wooden legs, his heart stammering a rhythm of denial against his ribcage as he stared, disbelieving, at the limp, lifeless form of his beloved, cradled with surprising gentleness in the Witch’s lap.

 

She looked up as he drew nearer, the alabaster skin around her eyes pinched in uncharacteristic worry. 

 

“Hurry,” she told him, raising one hand from where she had it splayed over Tony’s bare chest to motion him closer.

 

And Stephen barely kept his knees from buckling as he glimpsed the familiar circle of the arc reactor that was now ominously, terrifyingly dark.

 

“Hurry!”

 

The undisguised urgency in the Witch’s voice snapped him out of his horrified stupor, spurred him on.  Because she wouldn’t have pushed him to hurry if it was already too late, would she.  The dead had no use for punctuality.

 

He dropped down beside her, placing the amulet into her waiting palm.  Watched as she crushed it unapologetically in her fist, opening her hand back up to reveal a small brilliantly blue jewel sitting in the cup of her palm amid the broken remains of the amulet that had encased it.

 

“Take out the reactor.  Quickly,” she instructed, her other hand still hovering over Tony’s chest and here up close Stephen could see the faint green glow that emanated from the skin of her palm.  “His heart is already slowing down; my magic won’t keep it beating for long.”

 

He did as he was told, trembling fingers slipping on the smooth edges of the reactor, ghosting fearfully over the black lines snaking forth from its unsettlingly dark circle, criss-crossing the gaunt chest that rose and fell in labored, magic-assisted starts.

The memory of Stane forcibly pulling the arc reactor out of Tony’s chest flashed across his mind unbidden, the terror, the pain, the resignation in Tony’s wide, tear-filled eyes….  He swallowed convulsively, willing the haunting images away.  Spared a quick glance at Tony’s slack, pale face, feeling absurdly grateful for the fact that the man wasn’t conscious for this.  Because Stephen didn’t think he could handle it if his actions were to trigger those same memories in Tony’s mind as well, if he were the one to put that fear in Tony’s eyes.

 

“Should this… should it be smoking?” he inquired shakily, casting a worried look at the thin tendrils of smoke that rose up from the partially melted thin plate sticking out of the back of the device.

 

“That’s the palladium core,” the Witch told him by way of explanation. “Take it out.”

 

He needed no further encouragement.  This was it – the thing that was poisoning Tony, the thing that threatened to take him away from Stephen, for good.  And he pulled it out, tossing the damaged plate away with an almost desperate vengefulness. 

 

One hand still splayed over Tony’s heart, maintaining its faltering rhythm, the Witch brought the glowing jewel to the gaping slit of an opening in the back of the reactor and carefully placed it inside.  The reactor shuddered in Stephen’s hand – a low hum of vibration that rippled through the skin of his palm; then came alight with a blindingly brilliant blue glow.  The Witch plucked it out of his grip, shoved it roughly back inside Tony’s chest, Tony’s whole body jolting with the force of it.  And…

 

…nothing happened.

 

There was no magical resurrection, no sharp inhale of breath announcing a body’s return to life.  Tony remained silent and still before him, the feeble, halting movements of his battered chest slowly but surely dying down – each breathless, hopeless second of stillness steadily increasing the crushing weight of despair and guilt within Stephen: _“You failed him, you failed him, you failed him_.” 

 

He swayed in place, a strangled sob tearing out of his throat even as the Witch cursed sharply beside him and then shifted suddenly, slipping out from under Tony’s form to quickly to lay him flat on the cave floor.  Lips moving in a silent chant, eyes blazing an unnatural brilliant green with the magic coursing through her, she poised her right hand a few inches above Tony’s chest, hovered there a moment longer as though taking aim, and then brought the hand down, brutal and lightning-swift, sinking her taloned fingers deep into the flesh around the reactor, around Tony’s heart.

 

Stephen screamed.

 

He was pretty sure he did.  There was a sound not unlike a protesting howl of a wounded animal that filled his ears and he was pretty sure it was his own. 

 

He was also pretty sure he moved.  Lurched forward to grab the Witch’s arm, to force her away from his beloved, to make her end the unnecessary cruelty.  Only…

 

…only there was a sudden convulsive movement that ripped through the ashen-skinned lifeless form, the familiar brown eyes flying open unseeing, mouth twisted in a choked gasp of a scream, and the Witch pulled back just as Tony jackknifed upright, arms flailing as though he were fighting off some invisible enemy.   

 

And Stephen, momentarily frozen in place from the sheer shock of his lover’s unexpected awakening, had but half a heartbeat to react before Tony swayed in place, his energy fading all too quickly, and began to pitch inexorably to the side.

 

“I should have anticipated this,” the Witch remarked calmly as Stephen held Tony close to his chest, his arms wrapped around him as tightly as he dared, while the man shivered violently in his grasp, his body trying to reboot itself from the near death. 

 

“His heart was already weak because of this device.” The Witch nodded at the reactor – now once again a brilliant blue glow in the middle of Tony’s erratically heaving chest. “With the poison and the stress of channeling the injuries dealt to you by Dormammu… it simply became too much. He _is_ a mere human after all,” she added with a scoff that somehow didn’t carry the condescension her words implied.      

 

Stephen tightened his hold on Tony, hunching over his shivering form as if that could somehow protect the man, keep him safe from the danger implied by the Witch’s words.

 

“Will he be alright?” he whispered, pleading.  Because he couldn’t lose Tony now.  Not like this.  Not after everything they both went through.  Not after all the pain, all the suffering they endured.  Not when they finally, finally had the cure.

 

The Witch nodded, a calm assurance in the emerald depths of her eyes.  “The spell I used may have been a bit… unconventional,” she hedged, shrugging a bit as she regarded the talons of her right hand, still stained with Tony’s blood.   “But it was effective, and the new element will do the rest.  Your human will live.”

 

“Thank the Sea Gods,” Stephen choked out, feeling something shift in his chest as the vicious, iron-like vise that fear had wrapped around his heart broke, shattered like a sheet of ice under the blinding, searing ray of hope. 

 

And he could finally breathe again.

 

He buried his face in Tony’s hair, letting his beloved’s scent fill his nostrils, letting it calm his anguished racing heart, heedless of the tears of relief that ran unchecked down his cheeks, dripping onto the matted tangled locks. 

 

“Thank the Sea Gods….”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Finally. Another WIP finished (yay me :))

A sudden wave of intense, searing pain tore clawlike into his chest, ripping him from the cold blackness of oblivion.  He tried to scream, but no sound ever made it past his lips, smothered by an all-consuming fire that flared unexpectedly deep within his chest, cutting off his breath.  He gasped for air over and over, desperate to relieve the awful pressure on his burning lungs, aware of nothing but the violent tremors that wracked his body and the frantic beat of his heart as it struggled to recapture its abandoned rhythm, to help his body recover the warmth it lost.   It was ironic, he thought, that he should feel so cold when inside his heart felt as though it was on fire.

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, the feverish, frenetic rhythm began to relax, the intensity of the heat subsiding, and other things began to filter into his awareness: the hushed voices above him, the damp mustiness of the cave, the solid warmth of a person at his back, the safety of the arms wrapped around his shivering body that felt so familiar, so much like…

 

_“…Stephen,”_ he tried to say, burrowing deeper into that warmth, knowing that it wasn’t real – couldn’t have been, because Stephen wasn’t here, Stephen was stuck in Dormammu’s hell, and Tony was too weak to pull him out of it – but needed _oh so desperately_ to pretend for even just a moment that it was.

 

He must have a made a sound, because those arms around him shifted suddenly, the welcome warmth retreating. 

 

A whine of protest broke forth from his sand-dry throat and he reached out, unthinking, his right hand grasping blindly for the arm in an attempt to stop it from pulling away.  And jerked his hand back with a surprised hiss as pain lanced firelike across his bandaged palm upon contact.

 

The person behind him stiffened momentarily, and in the next moment Tony’s wrist was captured in a gentle but firm grip, preventing him from pulling it protectively to his chest in a belated attempt to shield it from more pain.  He blinked open his eyes, squinting apprehensively at the blurry outlines of fingers that began to tear with a kind of hurried desperation at the tight knot of fabric that rested at the base of his palm.

 

“N-no,” he wheezed in growing panic as he felt the knot loosen and then fall apart altogether, the makeshift bandage slipping from around his hand.  “No!”

 

Frantic now, he struggled to tighten his grip on the jewel, ignoring the nauseating spikes in pain.  Because he couldn’t let it fall now.  He couldn’t.  Not again.  Stephen would be–

 

“Tony.  Tony, stop!”

 

He froze, heart stammering wildly in his chest. 

 

_That voice, that_ voice _… But it couldn’t be.  It wasn’t possible_

He blinked, once and then again, until the bleary outlines holding his wrist hostage sharpened, gradually coming into focus.  And then he simply sat there, too stunned to protest, as those hands – those achingly familiar scarred hands (and he couldn’t ignore it anymore, couldn’t deny it) – carefully pried his fingers apart, letting the jewel clatter to the floor with a dull thud.  He heard a gasp above his ear, a choked sound of dismay, and then those long, beautiful, dear fingers moved to hover with a kind of fearful reverence over the ugly weeping burn that marred the center of his palm.

 

“I dropped it once,” he murmured dazedly, watching as those fingers trembled ever so slightly, a soft emerald glow spilling forth, caressing the mangled flesh of his palm.  Soothing.  Healing.  “I was afraid I’d…”

 

He twisted as much as he could within the enfolding arms, raised his head, meeting the worried, tear-filled gaze of the pale blue eyes.  “I thought I’d lost you,” he confessed, his breath catching with remembered fear.  “I thought–”

 

“I’m here.” The fingers of one scarred hand unwrapped from around Tony’s wrist to press a tremulous caress against the cold skin of his cheek.  “I’m here.  I’m okay.  We both are.”

 

He nodded, swallowing tightly against the threatening tears of his own.  Stephen was back beside him, holding him, solid and warm and alive.  And the reactor in his chest glowed a steady reassuring blue, the broken, stifled rhythm of his heart slowly but surely evening itself out.

 

“It worked,” he whispered, voice thick with awe and disbelief.  Smiled when he felt Stephen’s arms tighten in response.  Let himself relax for the first time in what felt like forever, nestling deeper into the familiar safety of the embrace, his shivering body instinctively burrowing into the proffered warmth.  “It actually worked.”

 

There was a sound of a throat being cleared, a subtle shift in the air nearby.  _That’s right_ , he remembered with a start, twisting in Stephen’s arms to look toward the momentarily forgotten owner of the cave, _the Witch._

 

“As much as I love sappy reunions,” the Witch nodded at the two of them, her face twisted in mock distaste, “I would really appreciate having my home back to normal.”  She grinned, staring right at Tony, “No offense.”

 

“None taken,” he huffed out, amused.  Reluctantly extricated himself from Stephen’s grasp, struggling his way to his feet, ignoring Stephen’s urgent “wait!” and his attempt to stop him.  “The scary witch lady is right, babe,” he murmured with as much levity as he could muster with the cave lurching sickeningly around him as he struggled to remain upright, “I have abused your hospitality for much too long.” 

 

He swayed precariously, his knees folding despite his best efforts, and he didn’t have it in him to protest when Stephen’s arms found him once more, let himself sag into their solid, steadying grip. 

 

“Wait,” Stephen repeated above his ear, but it wasn’t directed at Tony this time and he saw the way the Witch cocked her head at Stephen, expectant.  “I have another favor to ask.  Last one.”

 

“Oh?” 

 

He felt Stephen tense in hesitation, the merman’s heart beating a troubled rhythm against Tony’s back.  “I want you to make me human.”

 

He thought he misheard.  He thought his brain was still too fuzzy from the all too recent reboot and he simply didn’t register it right.  But then he saw the pinched expression on the Witch’s face, saw the way she stiffened at the words, her eyes growing hard, and…

 

“Wh…what?”  He twisted sharply out of Stephen’s arms, stumbled a few steps back to stare wide-eyed at his boyfriend. “You… you can’t be serious.”

 

Stephen’s lips twitched – a wistful half-smirk.  “Perfectly serious, actually,” he quipped back, and Tony shook his head at the lightness (albeit affected) of his tone.

 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he insisted, arms extended toward him in an almost pleading gesture.  “Stephen, you don’t….” His breath cut out on a gasp, his body still reeling from the brutality of its ordeal, his lungs still struggling to catch up.  Swallowed harshly, trying to force his jumbled thoughts into some semblance of order.  Stephen’s request was everything he could possibly dream of – the possibility of having the love of his life beside him without the vastness of the ocean between them.  But it was just that – a dream, a beautiful, unattainable dream.  One Tony simply had no right to.

“This is your home,” he pointed out, fighting to get the words out past the sudden dryness in his throat, the brutal truth scraping raw against his selfish, foolish need.  “Your family is here, your _life_ is here. I can’t possibly ask you to… I _won’t_ … I…”

 

He trailed off, breathing harshly, as Stephen closed the short distance between them, fingers pressing gently but insistently against his lips, calling him to silence.

 

“That’s you.”  Stephen was smiling fully now – a beautiful soft smile that cut dimples in his cheeks and left fond crinkles at the corners of his blue-blue eyes.  “My life, my home – that’s you.  It’s always been you.”  He moved his hand to the side, sliding it to cup Tony’s cheek.  Huffed with fond amusement when all Tony could do was stare up at him, unblinking, his mind stuttering over Stephen’s words, unable to form his own.  “Trust me,” he murmured, leaning in to seal a quick kiss over Tony’s dazedly parted lips.  “Trust me.”

 

“You sure you know what you’re asking, little mer?”

 

The Witch’s question jolted Tony out of the momentary haze, snapped his attention back to the here and now. 

 

Beside him Stephen nodded curtly.  “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he affirmed, voice as strong as the hand that was now gripping Tony’s shoulder as though afraid the Witch would decide to pull them apart.

 

The Witch stepped closer, her eyes – a searing emerald blaze.  “You know what humans are like – vile landwalkers who only care about filling their pockets with shiny trinkets and would hunt even their own kind if it suits their interests.  You know they can’t be trusted,” she pointed out coldly, the snakes around her head bobbing slightly as if in agreement with her words.  “You’re willing to spend the rest of your life among creatures like that?”

 

Tony bristled at the sweeping judgment, mouth opening to defend himself, but Stephen’s hand tightened on his shoulder, forestalling his objection.

 

“I don’t care about other humans,” Stephen’s calm, reassuring gaze bore into Tony’s questioning one before shifting over to the Witch.  “I only care about him. And _you know_ he’s not like the others.”

 

The Witch hummed in response, head canting to the side as she turned to regard Tony.  Her hand extended toward him, black-taloned fingers scraping with gentled brusqueness down the side of his face before curling roughly around his chin.

 

“That’s true,” the Witch drawled out, her fingers clenching, and Tony struggled not to flinch as he felt the sharp talons dig painfully into his skin. “You have proven yourself to be quite different.  Still….” 

The green eyes flashed brightly, an odd expression flickering across her pale face.  “…I’m old enough to know how fickle human nature is.  Your kind doesn’t understand the concept of forever, not like we do.  You grow weary of things all too quickly, and when you do, you toss them aside like broken toys.” 

 

“Speaking from experience?” Tony bit out, bristling at the blatant prejudice of her words.  And maybe he shouldn’t have been antagonizing a magical being, maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but she had questioned his love for Stephen and that… that wasn’t something he was prepared to let slide.

 

The grip of her fingers tightened impossibly in lieu of a response, and he hissed in pained surprise as he felt his skin break under the pressure of her talons. But he didn’t move, didn’t try to pull away.  Met her furious glare with a fierce one of his own.

 

The Witch’s gaze narrowed briefly and she let go, her features devoid of remorse as she watched him raise his hand to dab carefully at the stinging, bleeding cuts.  “I like you, human,” she admitted grudgingly, lightly tapping her taloned finger at the glass of the arc reactor.  “You have a good heart.”  She pursed her lips, adding darkly, “But things change. Too quickly for your kind.”

 

And that, that wasn’t something Tony couldn’t counter.

 

“I will grant you your wish,” the Witch turned to Stephen once more, ignoring Tony altogether.  “But just in case time proves you wrong…”  She flicked her wrist, twisting her hand palm up, a small vial of thick dark green glass appearing in the cup of her hand. 

 

“What is this?” Tony felt Stephen stiffen beside him, the merman’s expression growing wary.

 

“An escape route,” she responded simply, pushing the vial into his palm.  “For if you ever decide to come back.”

 

“I don’t–”

 

“Take it!” Tony blurted out, surprising himself.  Closed his hand over the vial in Stephen’s even as the latter began to shake his head in denial.  As much as it pained him to agree with the Witch, as much as he dearly, desperately wanted Stephen to do this, to remain in his world, to live with him, he couldn’t let him abandon his life like that.  Not for him.  The Witch was right – things change.  He never doubted the strength of his feelings for Stephen, no.  He would go to his grave loving this man, he knew that, as surely as he knew his own name.  And he knew Stephen loved him back.  Perhaps even enough to give up his home and the life he had to be at Tony’s side.  But for how long?  He’d seen how happy Stephen was in his water element, seen the way his eyes lit up whenever he spoke to Tony about its hidden beauties, its underwater caves, its majestic creatures, its inconceivable treasures, its boundless, infinite reaches and the freedom that came with them.  How could Tony possibly hope to compete with that?  How long would it take before the pull of the ocean became too strong for Stephen to ignore?  How long before he started missing his home?  How long before he resented Tony for being the reason he couldn’t go back?   No, Tony couldn’t do that to him.  Couldn’t be the one to keep Stephen away from the most important thing in his life.  Because, selfishly, he couldn’t bear the thought of Stephen growing to hate him for it.

“No, Stephen, she’s right.  I’m…  People grow tired of me pretty quickly.” He shrugged, a bit awkward, a bit self-conscious.  It was true.  It was something his father had drilled into him very early on, and he’d received plenty of proof of it as he got older.  “And if you decide that–”

 

“I won’t!” Stephen insisted, brow furrowed unhappily.  “Tony, that’s…”

 

“ _If_ you decide that you don’t want this anymore,” he tightened his fingers around Stephen’s hand, a sad, knowing smile pulling at his lips, “you shouldn’t have to be stuck in human form.  It’s only fair that you have a way to go back.”

 

He turned to the Witch, unable to stand the wounded look in Stephen’s eyes.  He was doing the right thing, he told himself.  He knew he was. Stephen would thank him later.

“We’re ready to go now, if you don’t mind.”  He forced a smile her way, hoping Stephen wouldn’t object anymore, and feeling stupidly, irrationally disappointed when he did not.

 

“I do like you, human,” the Witch grinned back, the snakes hissing softly in approval. “I genuinely hope you prove my fears wrong.”

 She flicked her hand carelessly before them and suddenly the cave was gone and they both found themselves back in the familiar confines of Tony’s workshop.

 

***

**Epilogue**

 

Cool breeze skated across his bare skin, making him shiver, the sudden sensation pulling him crudely out of the pleasant drowsiness of sleep.  He frowned, eyes stubbornly closed as he attempted to ignore the chill, to burrow back into the warm inviting blackness of slumber.  He turned onto his side, his hand blindly seeking out Stephen’s familiar form.

 And froze, the last vestiges of sleep leaving him in a rush when nothing but empty cold sheets met his searching fingers.

 

“Stephen?”

 

He sat up in bed, squinting myopically at his night-washed surrounding until the inky blackness began to recede, the familiar contours of his bedroom slowly taking shape.  The door to the balcony was open, the air around him thick with the salty tang of the ocean that filtered in from the outside.  And he could see the familiar silhouette of his lover standing out there on the balcony by the very balustrade, his gaze lost somewhere in the dark vastness of the sea.  There was no mistaking the aching melancholy in Stephen’s posture, the palpable longing for the element he had been forced to abandon for Tony’s sake.

 

Tony felt his heart drop.

 

This was it.  This was the moment he had been dreading every day for the past few years.   He knew it was coming.  Knew that his happiness was on borrowed time.  And yet, as time went on, he foolishly allowed himself to hope.    

 

He closed his eyes, huffing bitterly at his own naïveté.  Heaved in a breath, a little too wet, a little too shaky.  He needed to do the right thing, needed to let Stephen go, like he had promised himself he would back there in the Witch’s cave.  No matter how much it hurt, no matter that he would likely not survive it.  Because this was what Stephen needed.  It was for the best.

 

He slid out of bed, slowly, like a man condemned, trying his best not to look toward the balcony, to give himself a few more seconds, just a few more seconds of blissful self-deception.  Pulled the sheet off the bed to wrap it loosely around his shivering frame – a silky suit of armor against the emotional carnage he was about to face.  It would help him hide the tremble of his hands where they held the folds in a white-knuckled grip. It would help conceal the way his chest shuddered with hitching, ineffective breaths.

 

He padded his way to the balcony, proud to have made it across the room without tripping over his reluctant, rubbery legs.  Pulled the door open all the way.

 

“Stephen? Babe? What are you doing out here?” 

 

He was surprised at how steady his voice sounded.  Normal almost.  It didn’t quite fit with the way his heart hammered painfully against his ribcage.

 

Stephen turned around to face him, and Tony had to dig his fingernails into the flesh of his palms to keep himself from flinching at the sight of the green-tinted vial held loosely in Stephen’s hand.  _He should have been ready.  Goddammit, he should have been ready for this!_

 

“Just saying goodbye,” Stephen offered with a fond smile, seemingly unaware of the devastating storm raging inside Tony’s heart.  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

 

Tony shook his head, wishing fervently he could sit down because he didn’t think his legs were going to hold him up much longer.  Forced out with as much levity as he could muster, “S-so when are you leaving?”

 

“Leaving?” There was a frown of confusion on Stephen’s face now, and Tony didn’t understand why, didn’t see the need for the cruelty of forcing him to spell it all out.

 

He clenched his fists harder, twisting the folds of the sheets hard enough that the material creaked in warning.  “Home,” he forced out, nodding at the vial in Stephen’s hand, his voice breaking pathetically on the word even as he tried desperately to keep it steady.  “When are you going home?”

 

Stephen took a step closer, arm outstretched toward him, and Tony flinched back involuntarily, wrapping himself tighter still into the thin material of the sheets.  He was barely holding himself together as it was – if Stephen were to touch him now, he feared he would simply fall apart at the seams.

 

Stephen’s steps faltered momentarily, his frown deepening. “Tony,” he called, quiet, and Tony shrunk even further into himself at the unbearable gentleness of his voice.  “I’m not going anywhere, Tony.” His lips twitched into a smile, eyes so understanding, so soft that it made something unclench in Tony’s chest, a hesitant tendril of hope breaking through.  “I _am_ home.  I’m home.”

 

He held out his hand, the vial rising up in the air above his palm, and Tony gasped in surprise, an aborted shout of protest dying on his lips as he watched the vial disappear in a bright flash of green. 

 

“I was saying goodbye,” Stephen repeated, his smile growing wider at Tony’s shocked expression. 

“But your family, your… your… the ocean… I…” Tony’s words stumbled and tripped over each, trailing awkwardly into a jumbled mess as Stephen stepped flush to him, his hand reaching out slowly, as if waiting for Tony’s permission.

 

“I meant what I said back at the cave.”  Gentle fingers ghosted over Tony’s cheek before touching down, softly, reverently.  “I was gonna destroy that vial right then and there.  But I know you, Tony.  I knew that if I had done so, you would have carried the burden of my decision on your shoulders and would have blamed yourself every time you so much as saw me looking at the ocean, convinced that I was having second thoughts.”

 

“Weren’t you?” The words were barely above a whisper, the last faint exhale of doubt erased by the answering shake of Stephen’s head.

 

“Not for a moment.  I waited to do this all these years so you would understand that nothing’s changed.”  Stephen raised his other hand to cradle Tony’s face, gently pulling him closer.  “I think I waited long enough.”

 

Their lips met, and Tony melted bonelessly into the kiss, his arms wrapping themselves around Stephen’s neck with dizzy, desperate relief.  The sheet, no longer held in the vise of his white-knuckled grip, fell, pooling in a careless heap at his feet, leaving his skin bare.  But it didn’t matter.  He was no longer cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @somethingjustsouthofbrilliance.tumblr.com


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